The Trouble with Marriage Laws
by Freya Ishtar
Summary: *REPOST* When Post-War law matches Hermione to Harry, AND Draco, she's determined to a find a way out. Research leads to a long-hidden secret in the shadowy past of pure-blood society, giving her hope there may be a way to fix things. Yet, as the wedding draws near, and she sees them both in a new light, she starts to wonder if she really wants to escape this fate. (triad fic)
1. I Never Did Like Divination

**THIS IS A REPOST.** I originally posted this fic a while back, pulled it because all my Dramione-inclusive plunnies died on me. But now they've been stirring back to life, so I decided to give them second chance.

Those who read these works before my mass Dramione Deletion (or who read these works in my Unfinished Dramione PDF), please note that aside from minor changes and editing fixes, the content of the previously posted chapters has not changed. All returning Dramiones will be updated weekly until all previously-available chapters are posted. At that point, the fics will continue until completion, but will fall under my 'sporadic updates' label. Feel free to reference my profile, PM me, or ask in your review and I'll get back to you ASAP, if you'd like a list of which other titles are (or may be) returning.

* * *

 **IMPORTANT Author's Note :**

As per this fic, certain changes in classification of blood statuses to reflect standards governed by Magic, rather standards governed by clearly flawed views of Wizarding society, were part of Post-War Reformations. **As such, Harry** **is** **considered a pure-blood, because his mother** **was** **a witch.**

 **DISCLAIMER : **I do not own Harry Potter, or any affiliated characters, and make no profit, in any form, from this story.

* * *

 **Chapter One**

I Never Did Like Divination

"I can't _believe_ this!" Hermione all but growled, crumpling the _official_ Ministry of Magic document in her hands.

She'd thought for certain they'd come to their senses and reverse the ruling before they got to her. But then, there it was . . . her _invitation_ to meet with the Ministry-sanctioned Matchmaker, clutched in the talons of the owl that waited ever-so-patiently at her window this morning.

Shaking his head, Harry sighed as he watched her storm though the foyer of 12 Grimmauld Place. "Hermione—"

"Just ridiculous! I usually have no trouble _not_ bringing my modern, Muggle world understanding into Wizarding things, which you well know." She spun on her heel, shaking an angry finger in his face. "But _honestly_! How can they _do_ this in this day and age?"

His brow furrowed as he stared at the dainty, balled hand, shaking in fury before his eyes. She _was_ just as terrifying in her wrath now as she'd been when she was twelve. One would think a decade of friendship would have been more than enough time for him to realize he was one of the only people who could diffuse her.

Certainly the Law _was_ a recent development, but he thought she'd have been better prepared when they finally called on her. "Hermione—"

"This is backward. And . . . totally barbaric!"

"Barbaric?" He grabbed her by her shoulders and gave her a gentle shake. "Hermione!"

Frowning, she met his gaze.

"We're talking arranged marriages, not trussing up the centaurs like carriage horses. And you're not alone, okay?" He pursed his lips as he shook his head at her. "We're _all_ being put through this."

Her body drooped a bit in his hold and she dropped her head down against his shoulder. She didn't _want_ to not be angry about this. She didn't _want_ to calm down. If anything, she was positive this was _exactly_ the sort of situation over which she had every right to feel upset.

"I'm not wrong," she said, the words spilling out in a whisper. "That all our friends are being forced through the same thing doesn't make it any better."

Smiling, he pushed her back a little, catching her gaze. "I never said you were wrong. Just . . . lashing out a bit, maybe. At me." He gave a half-shrug as she bit her lip to hold in a laugh. "Like _I_ have any control over this mess."

"All right, okay." She wiped her hands over her face in a calming gesture as she let out a rattling breath. "Everyone has to do this, and no one else is making a fuss. It's . . . ." Hermione let her voice trail off as she nodded. "It's for the good of the Wizarding community."

His bottom lip stuck out in a thoughtful pout. Well, she'd managed to talk herself down from that one faster than he'd expected.

"Harry?" she asked, making her chestnut eyes wide and pleading.

Sighing, he let his head fall back. With that look she didn't need to speak the question. "Yes, I'll go with you."

"Thank you," she said, her abrupt shout in his ear making him laugh as she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tight.

"You know," he muttered with a grin as he hugged her back, "whoever your future husband turns out to be, he's probably not going to like _this_ part of our friendship."

She pulled back enough to scowl at him. "Then my future husband will just learn to deal with it."

Harry relinquished his hold on her and followed her back through the foyer.

He didn't know if her future husband was lucky, or doomed.

* * *

"Your hand _, please_ ," Drusilla, the Matchmaker, said again, her tone short. Her thin lips pursed, she waited, _still_ , for Hermione to do as instructed.

"Miss Granger, you must," the Ministry official standing over Drusilla's shoulder—Hermione hadn't bothered to recall his name—prompted gently.

Holding in a sigh, and showing the good grace not to roll her eyes, Hermione at last extended her arm, holding her hand over the pile of opalescent, crystalline dust on Drusilla's desk.

She bit into her lip, bracing herself for the flash of pain as the Matchmaker pricked her finger. Watching the blood spill out, she found herself oddly fascinated by the gleam of light off the crimson droplet.

It splashed into the crystal dust, turning into a shiny, purplish stain.

Now that that was done, she could see the official and Drusilla both release a sigh of relief. Honestly, she _couldn't_ be the only one who'd put up a fight about this.

Though . . . she _did_ doubt anyone else had to be asked repeatedly for a solid twenty minutes before relenting.

Clearing her throat, Drusilla raised her wand—elm, Hermione guessed from the color of the wood, and inscribed with beautifully embellished runic symbols. She waved the instrument over the glittering dust, muttering the incantation under her breath.

Hermione swallowed hard, forcing her gaze to the floor as the mix of blood and crystalline grains swirled and shifted beneath the force of the Matchmaker's command. She didn't want to see. The best she could hope for was that this _perfectly_ paired wizard the spell was supposed to find for her wasn't some pure-blood elitist not fully won over by the Post-War reformations.

She could only imagine how painful meeting her future in-laws would be.

Everything in her line of sight became a means of distraction. The lightly-scuffed toes of her black leather boots, the faded blue denim of her jeans, with their Muggle-fashionable torn knees, the tiny, barely-noticeable bits of fuzz clinging to the bottom hem of her dark-blue jumper.

She knew she had to be there today, but she'd had deliberately decided not to go out of her way to dress nicely for the meeting in a subtle show of protest. Unfortunately, the gesture seemed lost on the two Ministry members before her.

"What?" The official's voice was high—a tone of disbelief. "I don't understand."

"Neither do I. I've actually _never_ seen this before," Drusilla said in a whisper.

Hermione refused to lift her gaze, despite her curiosity. What _was_ going on atop that desk? She was too hopeful that whatever they were seeing meant a loophole for her.

"Surely this can't be a first."

From the way the volume of the Matchmaker's voice shifted, Hermione thought Drusilla must've turned to speak over her shoulder to the supervising wizard. "Allow me to clarify. I've never _heard_ of this happening before, either."

"But how—?"

Drusilla forced out a sigh from between pursed lips. "I've no idea. It's right there, she has—"

"Okay, what?" Hermione snapped, finally having enough of the cryptic discussion. "I'm standing right _bloody_ here!"

She lifted her gaze, hoping that perhaps their confusion denoted something wonderfully momentous—like, say, their Matching Divination coming up blank! _Yes_ , that was a wonderful thought! That could be certainly be . . . true.

Hermione's thoughts ground to a halt and her jaw dropped as she saw what they were fussing over. The blood-stained crystal dust had swirled into a definite likeness of not one face, but _two_.

The images of _two_ wizards stared back at her from the desktop. Two wizards _remarkably_ familiar to her.

She backpedaled a step, all but collapsing into one of the chairs that faced the Matchmaker's desk.

"I think she's going to need a minute," the Ministry official said to Drusilla in a stage-whisper.

"Yes, and I _needed_ your statement of the obvious to notice the girl's state of distress, Markham."

"Markham, that was your name," Hermione muttered absently as she shook her head.

Markham hmphed, folding his arms across his chest. He reminded himself she'd just had a bit of a shock; she couldn't be held responsible for any rude statements that fell out of her mouth just now.

"It _must_ be a mistake."

Frowning, Drusilla stepped around the desk and moved to settle in the chair beside Hermione's. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger. There is no mistake. You _have_ two perfect matches."

Hermione looked up, meeting the other witch's gaze. "I can't—can't have two. Especially not _those_ two. Well, no, one of them, maybe, but the other one? _Impossible!_ There _has_ to be something in the Law that forbids this!"

Feeling for the younger woman, Drusilla sighed and reached out to place her hand over Hermione's. "The Law states that the Muggle-born witch or wizard _must_ wed the pure-blood to whom they are matched. The magic here selects the wizard to whom you are most suited."

Hermione's face fell, her eyes growing wide.

"I'm sorry Miss Granger, but if magic, itself, cannot choose between these two, then neither can _we_."

Turning to face Drusilla, Hermione clung to her hand. "But there _has_ to be a mistake. Please, _please_ . . . just try again!"

Drusilla looked about the room, her expression thoughtful. Rolling her eyes, she finally nodded. "Fine. However, I must caution you that the result will likely be the same."

Hermione's heart sank, but she only offered a shrug. "Well, I suppose I'll have to accept the results _then_."

Nodding again, Drusilla gave the girl's hand another pat and stood.

* * *

Harry bolted upright at the sound of someone clearing their throat. He'd not even realized he'd drifted off as he waited on a bench outside the Matchmaker's office. Blinking hard, he lifted his hand, rubbing at his eyes behind the wire rims of his glasses.

He looked up to see Hermione standing in front of him. Her eyes were wide, and the color had drained from her face; she clutched two small boxes in her hand.

Shooting to his feet, he slipped his fingers around her elbows. "What happened? What took so long? Are you okay?"

She forced a smile. He was always so concerned for her. Her best friend, the person who understood her so well, perhaps this wouldn't be so bad.

Inhaling deeply, she blew the breath out slow. "Well," she said, pausing to force a gulp down her throat. "It took so long because I had them recast the divination a . . . _few_ times. And, um, well . . . it's you."

His jaw fell as he tried to process her words. "Me? I don't—wait, what? You look like someone just ran over Crookshanks _because_ you were matched to me?"

A nervous laugh bubbled out of her. "No, no," she whispered, shaking her head as she handed him one box. "That . . . I think _we_ could make it work." Didn't many husbands and wives eventually come to consider one another best friends? They'd just . . . be starting backward.

Harry still didn't quite know how he felt—he was certain the missive informing him that he'd been matched was being penned as they spoke—as he opened the box. Inside, an opalescent band of purplish-red rested against a simple bed of black velvet.

"The rings are part of the spell . . . they form from the mixture Drusilla uses for the matching." She stopped there, unsure how he'd feel about walking around with her crystallized blood on his finger.

He shook his head, removing the ring from the box and slipping it on. She was right, he thought, they _would_ make this work. They'd been through hell and back together; he knew if _anyone_ could make an unexpected thing work, _they_ could.

"Hermione, are you really okay with this?" He lifted his head as he asked, spotting the glint of silvery purple-red on her own finger.

Her expression became guarded suddenly as she followed his line of sight.

How could she tell him? How was _this_ part of it ever going to work?

"You . . . were already wearing your ring when you came out of the office, weren't you?"

She nodded, biting her lip.

"So that second box isn't yours."

Hermione couldn't even shake her head. Instead she looked away, her brow furrowed.

Harry thought he was going to fall back onto the bench behind him. That . . . no . . . . _What?_ "I'm not sure I understand."

"I . . . don't, either. Not really." She licked her lips nervously as she went on, reaching her empty hand out to tug at Harry's fingers, intertwining them with her own. "Um, but I—somehow—have _two_ perfect matches among the pure-blood wizards."

His face scrunched in unpleasant anticipation. If this was her reaction, then it couldn't be good. He understood that if he was having an issue processing the situation, then he couldn't begin to imagine what she must be feeling just now.

"Who is it, Hermione?"

"Um . . . ." She swallowed uncomfortably as she dropped her head forward. "It's—"

"Granger, Potter," a _remarkably familiar_ voice said from behind her. "Should've known working in the Ministry I'd be _bound_ to run into you two at some point."

Hermione spun on her heel. Her jaw dropped as she found herself staring up at Draco Malfoy. Those cold, slate-grey eyes, that perfect, pale face—with the most oddly charming dusting of a five o'clock shadow gracing his jaw—and sleek, platinum hair were just as she remembered.

But it wasn't the recollection of classroom arguments, or fleeting war-time alliances, that caused her heart to drop into her stomach.

"Him," she said, the word squeaking out of her in a barely audible whisper.

Harry's eyes widened, his gaze darting from Hermione, to Draco, and back. " _Him?_ "

She nodded, repeating herself, "Him."

"Me?" Draco asked, his brows shooting up his forehead. "What about _me_?" He hadn't the foggiest idea what they were talking about, but the way they looked at him made him think he might be better off simply walking away, rather than waiting around for them to explain.

"Uh . . . ." Hermione said, fidgeting with the box in her hand.

Harry held up a hand in caution as he lowered himself to take a seat on the bench. "Malfoy, I _think_ you're going to need to sit down for this."

She watched, finding it amusing in a strange way, as Draco's expression shifted to a mix of trepidation and uncertainty as he stepped around her. Pivoting to face the two of them as Draco sat, she wondered how many conversations, arranged like this, awaited them.

Well, she supposed, it could always be worse. They could've been stuck with _Ron_.


	2. Draco Malfoy Does NOT Have Tantrums

**Chapter Two**

Draco Malfoy Does _Not_ Have Tantrums

"You can't _possibly_ be serious about this," Draco shouted, slamming his palms on Drusilla's desk. "What the _bloody hell_ is the matter with you people?"

Hermione and Harry stood in the open doorway of the Matchmaker's office, watching the Malfoy heir's temper tantrum unfold. Well, Harry leaned against the jamb with his arms folded over his chest, and his legs crossed at the ankles, as though he was enjoying the show. Hermione stood behind him, wincing at each bellowed word that fell from her . . . _other fiance's_ lips.

If she weren't still having trouble simply trying to process their situation, she knew she might well be there right beside Draco, her shouting voice mingling with his.

To her credit, Drusilla hadn't bothered to rise from her seat for his unannounced visit. She hadn't even jumped when he'd crashed his hands against the fine, polished wood that still glittered with left over grains of crystal dust. Rather, the dark-haired woman simply stared back at him, her elbows propped upon the desktop, and her chin resting on her interlocked fingers.

"Now, you listen here, Mr. Malfoy," Markham said through his teeth, though the sudden lack of color in his face told their small audience the Ministry wizard never thought he'd have to stand up to the son of _Lucius Malfoy_. Despite the patriarch's fall from grace, the family's _willing_ contributions to the Post-War Reformations funding had managed to rebuild at least some of their formidable social status. "Do you really think bullying your superiors will get you—?"

"My _superiors_?" Draco echoed, his tone sharp.

Hermione slapped a hand against her face. Harry's shoulders shook in a hushed chuckle as Draco exploded. They both knew far too well from their school years what to expect at Markham's choice of words.

Drusilla only pursed her lips, her brows creeping up her forehead as she flicked her bored gaze from one wizard to the other.

Draco lowered his head a bit, grey eyes narrowing dangerously. "I don't even tolerate my _actual_ Ministry supervisors speaking to me that way."

Harry whispered over his shoulder, so that only Hermione heard him, "I swear, if he says his father will hear about this, I'm _going_ to lose it."

Unable to help herself, Hermione pressed her face into his back to muffle her responding giggle.

"Mr. Malfoy," Drusilla said in a surprisingly gentle tone, her dark head shaking. "I understand that this is a bit of a shock for all of you. It is truly an unprecedented occurrence, but we _cannot_ challenge the mandate of magic, itself."

"So I'm just supposed to happily go along with marrying _that_ one back there?" Draco waved over his shoulder in Hermione's general direction in a dismissive manner.

"Mr. Malfoy, as I said—"

"And on top of _that_ , you want me to share her? _Me?_ Is this a punishment for something? Is it? It _must_ be. I'd prefer you just torture me and get it over with!"

For Hermione, Draco's attitude had just tipped over from amusing to insulting. Scowling, she stepped around Harry and crossed the office to Drusilla's desk. By the time Harry thought _maybe_ he should have grabbed her by the elbow and tugged her back—let Malfoy vent and get it his spoiled heir bullshit out of his system—she was already pivoting on her heel to glare up into Draco's face, directly.

"How _dare_ you act like you're the only one put off by this mess?!"

Rolling his eyes as his shoulders slumped, Draco shook his head. "Granger, please, this is no time for a tantrum."

Harry cringed as Hermione's eyes shot wide.

"Tantrum? _Tantrum_?" She reined in anything particularly barbed and settled for pointing out the obvious, which had clearly escaped his keen notice. Folding her arms beneath her breasts, she smirked. "You mean like the one _you've_ been throwing for the last ten minutes?"

Draco swiveled in place, shifting his full attention to Hermione as his hands balled into fists at his sides. "I am _not_ having a tantrum!"

She squared her shoulders as her eyes narrowed into venomous slits. "Draco Malfoy, what you are doing right now is the very _definition_ of a tantrum!"

"Oh, shut it," he said, one corner of his mouth curling into a sneer. "Chatty little know-it-all."

Harry bit his lip against a retort on Hermione's behalf. She could defend herself. If he stepped in, she'd never forgive him, because it would look as though he thought she couldn't.

To his surprise, a calm voice sliced between the bickering pair—yet, it did precious little to ease the tension in the room.

"My, my," Drusilla said, a tiny smile curving her lips. "So very opposed to your engagement, yet such sparks when you speak to one another."

Harry's brows shot up behind the wire rims of his glasses and he stood a little straighter. _No_ . . . the Matchmaker _had_ to be imagining things.

Hermione and Draco both whirled to face the woman behind the desk. "You must _be_ joking," Hermione said in a hissing whisper as Draco muttered, while giving the woman a distasteful once-over, "And here I thought the days of the Ministry employing _lunatics_ were long gone."

Drusilla, still unfazed by the disdain and insulting words, merely stared back at them. Her arched brows drawing upward, she said, "So you two _can_ agree on some things. Interesting."

Hermione couldn't believe what was happening as she exchanged an infuriated glance with _Draco Malfoy_ before turning her incredulous attention back to the other witch.

Draco didn't like the situation one little bit . . . . It was madness, complete, utter, ridiculous madness. _Marrying_ Granger? _Sharing_ her with Potter? And the bloody Ministry _officials_ behind the whole mess acting as though this was some fortuitous, wonderful thing?

 _No_. _Just . . . no_. He shook his head, his lips peeling back from his teeth in a strangely feral expression of displeasure.

"Do you have _any_ idea what my history with these two is, woman?"

Drusilla ground her teeth at his disrespectful tone, but kept her composure. "Well," she said, dropping her gaze from the pair before her to pull a roll of parchment from one of her desk drawers. "Lucky you that the three of you have time to work through your problems before your big day. If you feel you need premarital counseling, we can make arrangements for you."

Hermione's shoulders drooped and she hung her head. She'd known there was no arguing their way out of this before she'd stormed across the office, yet she couldn't help herself. Stupid Draco, getting under her skin with his spoiled-boy conniption fit.

This was precisely why Harry hadn't bothered to chime in, she knew that. He was already aware there was nothing they could say to change the decision.

Draco, however—as he once more braced his palms against the desk and glared—seemed content with his refusal to accept what was. "Are you not listening to me? There's not going to _be_ any wedding, you mad woman!"

Drusilla ignored him, lifting her gaze from her paperwork to meet Hermione's eyes. "I can see you will have your hands full with this one, but I am sure you will figure out a way to _manage_ both of them," she said with a wink.

Harry refused to let his mind linger on what he was certain the Matchmaker was hinting at. Hermione blushed furiously, unable to work up a response.

Draco had had enough. He was going to show this woman how incorrect her asinine insinuations were. "You think there's some . . . s _park,_ and that should make this all better, hmm?"

"People have made marriages work on much less, Mr. Malfoy," the woman said in a measured tone.

"You aren't _listening_. You can force us down the aisle all you like, but it's going to blow up in your faces! There _isn't_ . . . . _We_ don't have . . . ." Draco shook his head as he uttered an unhappy, strangely growl-like sound. "There is not _even_ a spark to build from, and I'll prove it! Granger, come here!"

"Wha—?"

Before Hermione could even get the entire word out, Draco slipped his fingers around her elbow and pulled her close. She raised her hands to push him away, but then his lips were on hers.

Everything seemed to stop around her as her palms fell limp against his chest

She became aware of her skin warming, of the faint press of his body to hers. Without realizing, her eyelids drifted down. Her mouth opened against his in a gasp, and she thought he must've lost himself in the moment—this moment that was supposed to prove exactly the _opposite_ of what seemed to be happening—as he took that as an invitation.

Hermione let out a small pleading sound as his tongue darted between her lips. His grip on her arm tightened, and she could feel the weight of his other hand as it landed on her hip.

And she was certainly aware of how she kissed him back, as though her body was responding to him _quite_ without her permission.

The sound of someone clearing their throat reminded them _both_ that they weren't alone.

As they broke apart, Hermione opened her eyes. A look of confusion marring her features, she met Draco's gaze. He swallowed hard as he stared back at her for a few, painfully stretched heartbeats.

Scowling—honestly, how could something so simple have backfired _so_ spectacularly—he shoved her back and turned on his heel. He refused to even glance at Harry as he started for the door.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy?" Markham called, delighting in the way Draco's shoulders hunched at the sound of his voice.

Halting mid-stride, Draco turned back to face him. "What?"

He indicated the ring box Draco'd placed on Drusilla's desk just before he'd started his tirade. Draco's expression darkened, but he didn't move.

Hermione wasn't quite certain what she was thinking as she picked up the box, herself, and held it out to him. Just as she was aware of so many things when his lips had first touched hers, she was equally aware of Harry watching the interaction, just now. Of the way those too-familiar green eyes flicked from Draco to her, and back.

Something she couldn't quite read jetted across his features and she felt an odd stab at the notion that he was about to turn away and leave without taking the ring. Yet, he surprised them both, if the faint widening of his grey eyes meant anything, as he took two steps and reached out, snatching the box from her hand.

A bizarre tension she'd not realized she was holding drained out of her as she watched him swivel toward the door, again. Harry, shaking his head, pushed away from the jamb and turned, as well.

Biting her lips as she dropped her head, she wondered how this mess kept getting bigger when they'd only been in it for fifteen minutes. With a sigh, she moved to follow them from the office. Though she couldn't imagine what conversation she and Harry were about to have, she already dreaded it.

Drusilla's voice caught them before they were out the door. "You three are due back here one week from today." The trio seemed to pivot, as one, to face her.

She looked up from the scroll open before her and reached for her quill. "To discuss the terms of your engagement, and begin planning and preparation for the wedding, of course. Let us say . . . two o'clock?"

Hermione was the only one to manage a nod, lifeless though it was, before they all turned and finally stepped from the office.

As Harry Potter closed the door behind them, Drusilla sighed. "See, Markham? Getting that sorted _was_ easier than you thought it would be."

Markham rolled his eyes as he dug a Galleon from his pocket and slapped it into the Matchmaker's waiting hand. "When will I learn to stop betting _against_ Diviners?"

One corner of her mouth plucked upward in a half-grin as she said, "Only after you've lost a few more Galleons to me."

* * *

"Tell me you have some plan to get us out of this," Draco said, the words slipping out from between his lips in an angry hiss as he halted and spun to face the pair trailing behind him.

Hermione stopped short and shook her head as Harry backpedaled a step to stand beside her. "Not yet. But I'm going to look. _If_ there's a way, I'll find it."

Nodding, Draco turned away in a huff and stomped off.

After watching him disappear down the corridor, she looked to Harry. He'd been so quiet before, and she thought she'd understood why, then. But _now_ , she was no longer so certain. He wasn't looking at her, instead his gaze was on his hands as he twisted the shimmering, red-purple band around his finger.

"Hermione?"

Her shoulders drooped and she reached out, cupping her hands around his. "Harry, please— _please_ —don't ask me what happened back there in the office with Draco and me, because I really don't know _what_ that was."

"According to the Matchmaker, it was a _spark_ ," he said in a mocking, highpitched voice.

She couldn't help a laugh at his shoddy impression as he lifted his gaze to hers.

"No, it's not about that . . . ." He wobbled his head in a side-to-side nod. "But that certainly _was_ an eye-opener."

Sighing, she pursed her lips. "Seriously, what is it?"

He twined his fingers through hers as he asked, "Would you still want a way out of this if it was only me?"

A relieved laugh escaped her. After the afternoon they'd had so far, she'd imaged something _far_ worse was on his mind. "Of course not, Harry. As I said, you're my best friend. We'd _find_ a way to make it work."

Turning, he began to walk, using his hand on hers to tug her into step beside him. "Although . . . one way or the other, if that's how you _snog_ , the wedding night's going to be _very_ interesting."

Uttering a scandalized gasp—despite the blush that colored her cheeks and the bashful grin that curved her lips—she slapped his shoulder.

"Hmm."

"What?" she asked, turning her head to peer into his face as they walked.

"I'm just . . . wondering how Lucius and Narcissa are going to take all this."

An anxious whimper escaped Hermione's throat, then. Just like that, she _was_ right back to fervently hoping there was a way out of this to _be_ found.


	3. Harry is, isn't he?

**Chapter Three**

Harry _Is_ , Isn't He?

Hermione sat up in bed, a frown on her face as she rubbed her fists against her eyes. After spending the better part of last night worrying over how her future in-laws were taking the news—no thanks to Harry—and the rest of it explaining things to her own parents, she didn't care if God, herself, was ringing the bell to her second floor flat!

The new Post-War Reformation laws certainly weren't _helping_ her Muggle mother and father to understand the Wizarding world—which was already teeming with so many concepts they still struggled to grasp—any better than they had when she'd received her Hogwarts letter. The idea that their only child was going to wed _two_ wizards, and that the law _supported_ this, made precious little sense to them.

Wincing, she pulled her quilt around her shoulders and waited, hoping that whoever was at the stoop below would simply think she wasn't home.

Yet, her bell rang, _again_.

Rolling her eyes, she shoved her feet into her slippers and rose from the bed, dragging her quilt with her. _Please don't let that be Mum and Dad!_

She adored her parents, but it had been all she could do to convince her father that a Muggle wasn't going to be _allowed_ into the Ministry to give Drusilla and Markham a piece of his mind—which was exactly what he had threatened to do. She didn't think she had the strength to have _that_ particular discussion a second time.

She was also refusing to admit that her mind was just possibly wandering back to that kiss whenever she wasn't keeping complete and total track of her thoughts. The . . . _troublesome_ kiss, and stupid Draco for thinking it would have made a difference, anyway.

But then that thought led her to remembering her _very_ favorite phrase at the moment. _Draco Malfoy is an idiot_. Then, the world was right again for a few bright and glimmering minutes.

Sighing, she trudged down the steps and across the three-floor building's small foyer. The silhouettes though front door's white-curtained window gave her hope. Neither party was tall enough to be her father.

The bell rang one last time as she finally turned the knob. Who the bloody hell could be _so_ certain she was even home that they'd be this insistent?

Her answer came in the form of two witches—one blonde, the other jet-haired. And both beaming at her, like they knew a secret.

Hermione's shoulders drooped as she stepped aside to allow Cho and Luna inside. "I take it you've heard?"

"Well, we ran into Harry last night," Luna started, rushing past Hermione to dart up the stairs.

Cho continued for her, "And he sort of . . . told us about your Matching."

Sighing again, Hermione shook her head as she closed the door and followed them up to her flat. The pair of Ravenclaw witches had become inseparable after the War, on occasion acting more twin-like than the Patils. The inclusion of Cho into their circle of friends had been a bit awkward at first—for Harry and Cho, both—but that had worn off when it became obvious neither of them had bruised egos left in the wake of their too-short relationship.

"Well," Cho said as she tugged Hermione inside the flat by her wrist and closed the door. "Go on, get dressed. We'll wait."

Hermione's brows drew together as Luna took the quilt from her shoulders and folded it neatly. "Dressed for what, exactly?"

The Ravenclaws exchanged a glance . . . an action that always ended up a cause of concern for Hermione.

"We're going to have a Girls' Day," Luna announced, bouncing on the balls of her feet, and undoing her efforts with the quilt by tossing it carelessly onto the sofa. "And you're going to fill us in on _everything_!"

Seeming to crumble where she stood, Hermione looked to Cho, her expression twisted into one of helplessness. "Not getting out of this, am I?"

Cho pursed her lips as she shook her head, her pretty, dark eyes widening. "Afraid not. She . . . she found a Muggle magazine and read this article about female bonding rituals, and how they can relieve stress _and_ strengthen friendships, all at once, so she's sort of been looking for an excuse." Cho glanced at Luna again before speaking to Hermione behind her hand, "She's also _really_ excited about it, and you know how she gets."

Uncertain that their friendship needed _strengthening_ , but hoping maybe the girls could give her some much needed perspective on the matter of her pending nuptials, Hermione gave a nod and turned toward her bedroom.

* * *

"So, wait." Cho reached across the tiles to pat Hermione's hand blindly. "You _kissed_ Draco Malfoy?"

Groaning, Hermione pulled the gel mask from her eyes and sat up, cringing at the way the gritty cucumber and sea-salt mud bath scraped her bare bum. Girls' Day . . . _wonderful_ notion, that. "You're not listening, _he_ kissed _me_."

"And you kissed him _back_ ," Luna pointed out, wagging a finger in Hermione's direction. "So the distinction you just made is lost."

"Fine," Hermione said in a whisper as she hung her head, irritated by the subject matter, but aware they weren't going to let her out of talking about it.

A mischievous grin curved Cho's lips. "So . . . if you kissed him back, that means the kiss was good then, yeah?"

Burying her face in her muddy hands, Hermione spoke loud enough to be heard around her palms. "Yes! Dammit, all."

Sighing, Cho sat up in her own in-ground bath and pulled her mask down around her neck. "I know it's not what you wanted, but you're going to marry him. I would think you should be relieved that kissing him wasn't _not_ good."

"I guess you're right," Hermione muttered as she lifted her head and leaned back in her bath, once more. She hated it, but Cho's words did make perfect sense. "I just . . . I adore Harry, you guys know I do. I just wish he hadn't been there to see it."

"Because you're worried how uneven things will be if you have a spark with Draco, but not one with Harry?" Luna waved her hands in the air, as though she was conducting some silent orchestra as she spoke. " _Or_ are you worried because you think you _will_ have one?"

Hermione frowned thoughtfully as she ran the tips of her fingers over her gritty, greenish-brown kneecaps poking up through the surface of the mud bath. "I don't know. It could quite honestly be either. I don't want to be unfair to him, that's the biggest thing."

"There's only one answer." Cho wriggled about in her tub as she again gave that playful smile. "You have to kiss Harry."

Blinking hard, Hermione tried to process that idea, but her mind went suspiciously blank. "I . . . I don't think I can. I've never looked at him like that, before."

"What's the matter?" Luna asked, pouting—a rather adorable and amusing sight, what the colored mud covering her face. "Don't you think Harry's an attractive man?"

Hermione's shoulders slumped as she nodded. "Well, of _course_ Harry's attractive. He's . . . ." Her face fell and her eyes widened. "Oh, God. Harry _is_ an attractive man, isn't he?"

The Ravenclaw witches both nodded in reply.

"And, if my input counts for anything," Cho said, steepling her fingers, "he's probably a _great_ kisser, too."

Turning her head slow, Hermione met Cho's gaze.

Cho shrugged. "If he was good when he was _fifteen_ , I can only imagine he's improved with age."

Biting her lip, Hermione tried very hard to imagine herself kissing Harry. Her posture drooping a bit as she failed—even in an imagined scenario, the attempt ended with her and Harry laughing too hard to make a serious go of it—she asked, "Why can't I see him that way?"

"You probably conditioned yourself not to," Luna said, her tone reasonable. "After all, when you two were _becoming_ the attractive people you are today, Harry fancied Ginny—well, no, first he fancied Cho—" Cho gave a small nod as the blonde witch continued—"then Ginny, and you fancied He Whose Name Now Infuriates You."

Hermione snickered as she nodded.

Again Cho shrugged. "Just like learning spells and enchantments. You train yourself until the knowledge becomes ingrained, and you know _exactly_ what to cast when the situation calls for it."

"That actually makes sense." Hermione twisted the crystal band around her finger. "I need to sort through this _somehow_ if I can't figure a way out."

Luna sat up now, sighing dramatically as she pulled her mask from her owl-like blue eyes. "I don't think there _is_ a way out, Hermione. I'm sorry."

"You'd have to find a way to reverse the rate of Squib births, and it's not like the Ministry and _every_ other Wizarding government hasn't tried." Cho shook her head, once more patting Hermione's hand reassuringly.

"Pretty sure not even _I_ could pull that off," Hermione said, tipping her head to one side as Cho preoccupied herself with cleaning the mud from beneath the Gryffindor witch's nails. "No, just . . . reverse the decision, maybe. Find a way to change the results of the Match so it would _only_ be Harry."

"And you'd be happy, then?" Luna asked, her brows inching up her forehead.

Smiling, Hermione nodded. "I think we'd _both_ be."

"Except for the whole might-not-have-a-spark issue," Cho said, frowning.

Hermione deflated at that. "Yeah."

"We already told you how you can find out."

Hermione looked from one Ravenclaw to the other, and back. "Refresh my memory?" She knew the answer had been handed to her, she simply couldn't recall it—or she didn't want to.

Luna leaned forward, looking past Hermione to meet Cho's gaze, before the two said in unison, "Kiss Harry!"

Pouting, Hermione pulled her mask into place and sank down into the grainy mud. She _had_ known the answer, but it was as intriguing as it was terrifying. To Luna and Cho, it was _only_ a kiss, but to Hermione, it was a simple act that _could_ change one of the most important things in her life, forever—her friendship with Harry.

* * *

"They cannot _possibly_ be serious about this," Lucius roared, crumbling the missive—which only confirmed the absurd news Draco had given them when he had returned from work, last night. "What the _bloody hell_ is wrong with these people?"

Draco blinked, his grey eyes widening . . . . But he wasn't quite certain if he was relieved his father was echoing his own words from yesterday, or if he was disturbed at suddenly noticing the startling resemblance between himself and his father. "That's what I said!"

"I really thought this insanity would be sorted before they got to you. This is a travesty! You are simply expected to _marry_ that—that Granger girl?"

Narcissa sighed as she shook her head, her attention on the needlepoint she was directing with a wave of her wand. They'd gone over all this last night . . . . Were her son and husband both suffering some sort of anger-induced amnesia?

"And they want you to _share_ her? With _Potter_?"

Draco shook his head, sighing. "I said that, too!"

"I will _not_ let this stand," the Malfoy patriarch said, growling the words through his teeth.

As he spent a moment fuming in silence, Narcissa caught her son's gaze from across the sitting room. She shook her head again, an expression of disdain flitting across her face at how the young man had managed to wind up his father _twice_ about the same matter in less than twenty-four hours.

She set down her wand, her work placing itself neatly on the ottoman at her feet. Rising from the chaise, she crossed to her husband's side. "You _will_ stand for it, because this is the _law_ , Lucius." Their last attempts to change laws had hardly won them any favors, or even a moment's peace of mind; in fact, it had nearly cost their family and their lives.

He scowled—again concerning Draco over the question of familial resemblance—and took his wife's hands in his own. "You cannot tell me you are thrilled at the idea of having that Mud . . . ." Lucius swallowed hard and forced himself to use the more politically correct term. "That Muggle-born as our daughter-in-law. Or at the fact that she will have a husband _besides_ our son!"

A surprised laugh bubbled out of her. "Of _course_ I am not happy about the situation, Lucius!" She drew in a deep breath and let it out slow from between pursed lips as she held his steely gaze. "But it is past the time for us to stop railing against what is. These Matches are in the best interest of _all_ of us, whether we like it or not. Would you really be content with a grandchild who did not possess magic?"

Squaring his jaw, Lucius dropped his gaze. "I suppose I would not."

The tension in Narcissa's shoulders eased and she nodded. None of the other families were making a spectacle of themselves by fussing over this—perhaps they were fussing privately, for all she knew—and she would _not_ allow what little Post-War standing they'd gained to be damaged by becoming the first pure-bloods to fuss publicly.

"Besides," Draco said with a shrug as he eyed the red-purple band around his finger; Merlin, he wasn't even certain why he'd put on the damned thing. "Granger said she's going to try to find a way out of this. If _anyone_ can . . . ." He shrugged again as he let his words trail off.

Narcissa's brows crept up her forehead in surprise at what was almost a statement of praise toward the girl falling from her son's lips. Her husband, however . . . .

" _She_ is looking for a way out?" The color that had drained from his face for barely a blink flooded right back in. "A way out of marrying a _Malfoy_? Any witch should be _pleased_ at such a Match! The insult!"

Draco thought perhaps his father was a bit too temperamental at the moment to rightly recall Granger's less-than-pleasant history with their family.

He jumped a little as he noticed the withering look his mother was giving him. And he couldn't say he blamed her—especially not as Father went one another tear. She'd _just_ gotten him to think reasonably about the situation and Draco had gone and dashed those efforts with a single sentence.

Lucius Malfoy had once had so much power, so much influence. Now he had to go along with absurd new rules and standards of conduct . . . and he could do _nothing_ about them but huff and rage in the privacy of the Manor's walls. It wasn't that Draco didn't understand, it was only that he wished his father had chosen a coping mechanism that involved _far_ less yelling.

As Father sank himself into another pointless tirade, Draco crept from the room on careful, quiet footfalls.

* * *

Hermione practically barreled through the door of 12 Grimmauld Place as Harry opened it for her. Swallowing hard at the severe expression on her face, he said belatedly, "Hermione, come in."

"Harry, we need to talk." She spun on her heel, knowing _talk_ was the wrong word, but having no idea how to broach the subject.

Closing the door, Harry darted his gaze about. "This sounds serious."

She tried not to fidget in place, twisting her ring around her finger for the . . . . Oh, she'd lost track of how many times she'd done that in the last hour, alone. "It is. But it's not. Well . . . sort of."

"Um, okay," he said, unsure what to make of her nervous demeanor. "Why don't we go sit in the parlor?"

Nodding, she turned and headed there. She was already settled on one of the cushions by the time he stepped into the room.

"So what's going on?" he asked as he sat beside her.

"I . . . ." She met his gaze and pouted. The way he was staring at her—but wasn't this how he always stared at her?—twisted her stomach into giddy knots. "Oh, God! I'm making this too hard. I'm thinking too much!"

Harry's eyes widened as he watched her clasp her hands together and rock a little in place. "Hermione, _what_ is going on?"

Sighing, her shoulders slumped and she shook her head. "There's something that we need to get out of the way."

His brows rising up over the wire rims of his glasses, he nodded as he waited for her to elaborate. Yet as she stared back at him, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly a few times, he realized she couldn't manage to get out whatever it was.

With another nod, he slipped his arm around her shoulders and sank back into the sofa, pulling her with him. He hoped the more relaxed position would help set her at ease, at least a little. "Just take your time, Hermione. Whatever it is, it's okay."

"That's the thing, Harry," she said in a whisper, curling herself into his side and resting her cheek against his chest. "I'm not sure it is."

After a few deep, calming breaths, she told him about her day with Luna and Cho. He chuckled and nodded throughout most of it . . . . And then she reached their conclusion. She felt the unmistakable shift in his posture as his spine stiffened.

"They said we should—?"

"Yes."

"And what do _you_ think?"

Hermione frowned, the quickened beat of his heart beneath her ear not helping to soothe her nerves. "I think . . . I think if we're to be married, then maybe it _is_ better to know sooner, rather than later, whether or not there's _something_. If that makes sense."

Harry nodded, letting out a sigh. "It does."

She lifted her head to meet his gaze. "So . . . do you _want_ to try?"

He was already looking at her. She froze in his loose embrace, aware rather suddenly of how close they were. So close, she could feel the warmth of his breath against her skin.

There was simply . . . _something_ in the way he was looking at her. Had he ever looked at her like that before? She couldn't recall, but it made the air catch in her throat.

Bracing her palms on the cushion beneath her, she raised up a bit. Her heart hammered against her rib cage and her lips tingled as he lowered his head toward hers.

The first brush of his mouth over hers was soft, feathery. She felt warmth rush into her face, and butterflies zip through her stomach as she leaned up just a bit more, pressing her lips more firmly against his.

He felt the gentle scrape of her teeth, and the tip of her tongue flicking teasingly. Just as he opened to her, she pulled back, covering her mouth with her hand.

"Oh, I'm—I'm sorry, Harry! Was . . . ?" She chewed on her lower lip nervously before she could finish the question. "Was that too much?"

Puffing out his cheeks, he shook his head. "Not, um, no. Not at all."

She shifted up to sit beside him, again. They stared at the far wall of the parlor in silence for a few heartbeats.

"I don't know if I feel better, or worse that that was _nice,"_ she whispered, uncertainty causing her tone to waver.

Harry nodded, though he tried not to grin. That _had_ been nice. If only they'd known _that_ years ago.

"So," he finally said, turning toward her, "the nibbling and licking at my bottom lip?"

A blush darkened her cheeks instantly. "It's just . . . how I start a kiss."

His eyebrows shot up and uttered an appreciative laugh. "Wow."

"Thanks."

Another strained moment passed before he said, "No wonder Malfoy looked dazed afterward."

She scowled at him, but curled into his side, once more.

He sat back again, dropping his arm around her. "I don't know if I feel better or worse, either."

Hermione nodded, smirking as she reiterated his words from the Ministry corridor yesterday. "At least the wedding night's going to be interesting."

"Any chance we can get away with locking Malfoy in the wardrobe?"

Giggling she murmured, "You read my mind." Though, even as she said that, there was a funny feeling in the pit of her stomach that things wouldn't play out _quite_ that way.


	4. The Perils of Being Accommodating

**Chapter Four**

The Perils of Being Accommodating

"You had near an entire week and _nothing_?" Draco shook his head as he grumbled. "Brightest young mind Wizarding Britain has to offer, my arse."

Hermione let out a groan, her head falling back to stare up at the ceiling. The days Drusilla had given them before their meeting had flashed by in a blink. Now, Hermione was seated between Draco and Harry—who both wore scowls and sat with their arms folded across their chests—as they faced the Matchmaker's desk.

She hadn't seen Harry since the night they'd kissed, because she'd spent most of that time absorbed in her search for a way to reverse the Match's results. And Draco . . . .

She'd like to be able to say she hadn't seen Draco since that impromptu—and notably disastrous—first meeting with Drusilla, because she and Draco simply didn't cross paths that frequently. Though they both worked for the Ministry, their departments were floors apart.

But . . . .

* * *

 **Three Days Earlier**

She hummed a bit under her breath as she paused before the mirror propped on the end table beside her door. Her hair was . . . well, it was as tidy as it was going to be, held back from her face by pearlescent black barrettes that matched her outfit, and her cute—but _sensible_ —strappy heels.

Sighing, she shook her head as she gave her makeup one last look. Pressing a finger to the matte red on her lips and pulling it away, she marveled again at the staying power of Wizarding beauty products. No wonder Narcissa Malfoy always looked so irritatingly bloody flawless.

Squaring her shoulders, she opened her door and proceeded down the stairs. Cho and Luna would be there any moment. She hadn't even wanted to go out, but then those two didn't take no for an answer. She dreaded the idea of them sneaking into her flat while she slept and absconding with her.

Would hardly be the first time for _that_ , though.

She straightened herself again as she reached for the knob of the front door, missing the silhouette against the window. Opening it, she let out a gasp as she stopped herself just short of walking face-first into someone.

"Draco?" Blinking hard, she gave him a once-over. He looked like he'd popped over from his office. His supervisors probably _loved_ giving him extra tasks that ensured he got out of work later than everyone else in his department.

"Granger, why . . . ?" His question trailed off as his gaze moved over her, taking in the black dress that clung to her so— " _Why_ are you dressed like that?"

"I'm going out dancing with Cho and Luna," she said, lifting her chin defiantly as she crossed her arms beneath her breasts and arched a brow. "Not that it's any concern of yours. What are you doing here?" She wasn't even aware he knew where she lived!

Giving himself a shake, he pushed past her to stand in the building's small foyer. "I came to check on your progress with reversing the Match. And, maybe, call me mad, see if I could do anything to help." He ignored how her brows shot up in surprise at his use of the word _help_. "I didn't expect I'd be intruding on your _very_ busy social life!"

Hermione ground her teeth before she could work up a reply—why did he always have to be _such_ an arse? "I have barely slept or eaten in three days, because when I wasn't at work, I was so busy looking for something— _anything_ —that might help. They're my friends, and they were worried that I was going to burn myself out, so they _insisted_ on taking me someplace fun tonight."

His grey eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

Feeling oddly put on the spot, she shrugged. "When _Ravenclaws_ tell you you've been working your brain too hard, you listen," she said, glancing away.

He still didn't look pleased, still didn't reply.

She held in a groan as she shuffled her feet in her cute-but-sensible shoes. What the bloody hell was he expecting her to say?

"Look, I will get right back to my research in the morning. However, right now, I just need to unwind a little. And . . . ." She shook her head, unable to believe what she was saying. "And thank you for offering to help. I appreciate it."

Draco nodded as he squared his jaw. "So, you're _really_ going out like that?"

Pouting, she looked down at herself. Other than a flash of leg and the barest hint of cleavage, she wasn't showing too much skin, the dress was brand new, so the material wasn't beady, or snagged anywhere. In fact, she thought she looked quite nice!

"What's wrong with it?"

"Is Potter going to be there?"

Her brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of how that question fit in with his first one. "No, it's just us girls. Why would—?"

"Dammit, Granger," he said in a hissing whisper as he shook his head. "At least if you were meeting him, I'd understand."

Her confused pout shifted to an irritated frown. "Well, then please explain your logic to me, because I _don't_ understand."

Draco's face fell—apparently he hadn't realized he'd have to give her a reason for his irrational-seeming nonsense. "Um, it's simply if . . . ." He swallowed hard and tried again. "If you fail at finding a way out of this, then that means we're actually stuck getting married, doesn't it?"

Hermione's brows shot up again. " _Stuck_?" She knew he was just as displeased about the situation as she and Harry were, but he didn't have to be so rude about it.

Oh, wait. This was Draco Malfoy, maybe he _did_.

"Yes," he said, nodding as he took a step closer. "And if that's the case, you're technically an engaged woman. Is it really appropriate for you to go out looking like _that_ , under those circumstances?"

Her spine stiffened as she stared up at him. She knew moving closer to her had been _intended_ as a bit of an intimidation tactic, but the wash of pink tinting his pale cheeks said otherwise.

"So, um . . . ." She forced out a breath, aware of an unwelcome rush of warmth in her own face. "Then what you're saying is _you_ think I look nice?"

He sneered and cast his gaze off to one side. "I didn't say that!"

"Oh, okay. Well, then," she started, waving at him dismissively, "if you only came to complain at me, you can just leave. Luna and Cho will be here in a moment, anyway."

"Merlin, you're _just_ as much a pain in the arse now as you were when we were at Hogwarts."

" _I'm_ a pain in the arse?" Hermione puffed out her cheeks as she tried to calm herself and failed. " _You're_ one to talk! I didn't pop up on _your_ doorstep and insult your wardrobe!"

His eyes narrowed and he grinned mirthlessly as he tapped pointedly at the low-cut neckline of her dress. "Nothing in _my_ wardrobe leaves my bits out for _all_ the world to see!"

"Wha—?" Hermione's eyes went wide as she dropped her gaze from his just long enough to look to where his finger was. There was the _barest_ line of her cleavage peeking out—hardly a scrap of shadow against her skin, for pity's sake.

"I'm not showing anything to _anyone_ , Draco," she said in an angry mutter of words. "And even if I _was_ , they're _my_ bits to show!"

She slapped his hand away, but he caught her wrist. Frowning, she tried to tug out of his grasp, but he held tight. Instead, she found that her attempt only pulled her closer to him.

Draco stilled as he realized his mistake. He relinquished his hold on her, but the blush in her cheeks and the warmth of her breath against his jaw as she stared up at him . . . .

Hermione had no idea which of them moved first, or quite how she ended up with her back pressed to the wall, but _somehow_ his mouth was on hers. Her arms were around his neck and her fingers raked through the ends his pale hair.

He braced his palms on either side of her as he tilted his head, his tongue darting between her lips. It didn't help the way she made that sweet little whimpering noise as she opened to him.

She pushed forward a bit, leaning into him as she nipped at him. Hermione gently caught his tongue between teeth, suckling at it.

A pained groan worked its way out of Draco's throat as his hands slipped from the wall to skim down, along her sides. Dear _God_ , did she always kiss this way? He pulled her more tightly against him, before the way she was kissing him back made him wonder just how talented her mouth really—

He broke the kiss, tearing himself away from her. To her credit, Granger looked rather dazed, as though she wasn't quite certain what had happened.

Flushed and flustered, he opened his mouth to speak, lifting a hand to shake his finger at her. Yet, no words would come.

Biting hard into his bottom lip to hold in a sound of frustration, he dropped his hand again. With a shake of his head, he turned on his heel and stalked out the door.

Catching her breath, Hermione blinked hard a few times. Oh, dear, this was starting to become something of a pattern, wasn't it? Second time in less than a week that Draco Malfoy had yelled, kissed her, and then stormed off.

Chewing her bottom lip in worry, she nodded. If this was how things were going now . . . . _Oh_ , she'd better find a way out of this marriage nonsense, because this simply could _not_ keep happening. It _couldn't!_

Pushing away from the wall, she ran trembling fingers over her dress and smoothed her hair as best she could. All the while, she thanked God for her flawless magic lipstick.

She stepped out onto the stoop, glad the girls hadn't arrived yet . . . only to glance down the block and see them cross paths with the storming Draco. Her shoulders slumped as they looked from him as he passed, to Hermione.

And, after exchanging a glance, Luna and Cho both granted her mischievous grins.

 _Yup_ , Hermione thought with a frown as she hung her head _, they've already_ guessed _what just happened._

* * *

 **Now**

She thought she'd probably seen him more in the past week than she had in the entire four years since they'd left Hogwarts.

But Draco's grumbling, and Harry's irritation with Draco's attitude—though, Hermione would wager a guess that Draco's _little visit_ the other day probably factored in there, as well—weren't the only source of her discomfort.

 _No_ , she thought with a pout, nodding to herself. She was certain the biggest contributor to _that_ was the presence of Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, standing at the back of the office. Hermione was certain she could feel the heat on the back of her neck every time the silent, but visibly fuming Lucius exhaled, despite how far away the pair stood.

Drusilla pursed her lips as she made the calculations and jotted something in the scroll open before her. "So, six months . . . . Ah, April twenty-fifth, wonderful!" She lifted her head and smiled at Hermione. "Spring weddings can be _such_ lovely affairs; do you not agree?"

"Sure," Hermione said with a curt nod. She preferred summer, herself, but she was so tired and strained from this last week she didn't care to argue. With any luck, it would never come to pass, anyway.

"Now, the question of where to have the ceremony—?"

"If I may?" Narcissa said, taking a perfect, delicate step forward. "I would like to offer the gardens at Malfoy Manor for the occasion."

Draco's face fell and Harry's eyebrows shot up. Hermione winced, refusing to look back at the elder witch. She could only imagine Lucius was turning blazing-red eyes on her, right now, as though this entire mess somehow rested on her shoulders.

"Narcissa," Lucius said in a hiss, as though to confirm Hermione's thought.

Narcissa arched her brow as she waved her husband off. She was _not_ having any of his nonsense today. She was _going_ to make this work, somehow, because it _had_ to work. "As the Ministry well knows, the gardens on our grounds are rather extensive, quite enough room for the ceremony and reception, I should think, and a ballroom in case the weather turns inclement."

Hermione risked a glance at Draco. He caught her gaze and shrugged. Apparently this was news to him, as well.

"That's a very generous offer, Narcissa, I shall note that as an option," Drusilla said, nodding as she scribbled away at her scroll. "Now, Miss Granger, are there any specific practices you'd like included in the ceremony, or would you prefer strictly Wizarding-traditional?"

Hermione shrank down in her spot between Draco and Harry. She knew perfectly well why the question was left to her. She was the only Muggle-born in the room. Apparently, with his still-recent status as a pure-blood, Harry's childhood spent living as a Muggle didn't factor in.

She cleared her throat as she tipped her head side-to-side. "Wizarding-traditional is fine. My family isn't very religious." Though, it was jarring suddenly to wonder if her parents would be the first Muggles to set foot on the Manor grounds.

Again, Drusilla nodded as she scratched out another notation. "And as for the honeymoon?"

Harry held up a hand, a bit overwhelmed that the Matchmaker had clearly expected they'd have discussed _all_ of these points, already. "Hang on. Can we have time to talk about that?"

"Certainly." Another notation. "And, I suspect you will want time, also, to decide on sleeping arrangements?" She went on as Hermione sank lower, still, into her seat, Draco froze entirely, and Harry tried _desperately_ to form a response that simply wouldn't come. "That _is_ a question that has never come up before, but then this is _such_ a unique circumstance."

After a moment—during which Hermione was trying very hard not to imagine the looks on Lucius and Narcissa's faces—Drusilla nodded again. "Very well, so matters of the honeymoon, we can schedule another meeting to sort that. Miss Granger, in regard to your wedding attire, and that of your bridal party, if you need, we can arrange a meeting for you with several—"

"No need, Drusilla. I will assist her with that."

Hermione felt her heart drop into her stomach as she turned, nearly against her will, and looked to Narcissa Malfoy. Drusilla was moving so seamlessly from one topic to the next that Hermione had barely caught up with the change in subject before Narcissa had spoken up. The pale-haired, meticulously put-together woman offered the younger witch a small smile.

"I . . . I don't know—"

"Miss Granger," she said, taking a step closer. "I apologize if the offer seems abrupt, but I know many of the shops and boutiques to which you will need to go, and while I know you would prefer your own mother with you . . . . Muggles simple _cannot_ travel to some of these establishments."

Hermione nodded stiffly as she understood. They'd have to Apparrate to reach some of them. "Oh, well, then my mother _can_ come with us to the shops that are . . . easier to get to, yes?"

Narcissa nodded, and Hermione saw what she thought was an attempt at understanding flash through the woman's eyes. "Of course."

"Well, then, the finer details will be sorted when the time calls for them. Now, there is a matter I must discuss with the brid, and her grooms." Drusilla arched a brow as she set aside her scroll and clasped her hands atop her desk.

"Now, see here," Lucius said, frustrated by his lack of input on the matters at hand. "I am not going anywhere until this meeting is concluded."

"Lucius, you are welcome to stay," Drusilla said through her teeth—Hermione was having difficult time trying to discern what pushed the Matchmaker's buttons, and what she took in stride. "However, the matter will be rather _personal_. I should think you would not want to intrude on a discussion regarding your son's se—"

"Fine! All right, have it your way!" He moved as he groused, storming to the door and, after taking a moment to hold it open for Narcissa, he stepped through and slammed it shut.

"I see your father's still all sunshine and kittens," Hermione said in a whisper, afraid Lucius might hear her through the door.

Draco squared his jaw, unable to do anything more than nod, even as Harry snickered on her other side.

"Ahem."

The three exchanged a quick look before they returned their attention to Drusilla.

"Now, I will inquire . . . . You are not virgins, are you?"

The way they all shifted uncomfortably, not looking at her, _or_ each other, was all the answer she needed. "Right. Well, normally, this does not need emphasis, as Matched partners who _are_ would typically be reluctant to go too far before their wedding night, anyway. However, as this is such an unusual case, and you three do have a rather . . _. intense_ history, I must insist . . . ."

They all seemed on the edge of their seats as they waited for Drusilla to finish.

"No intercourse until the wedding night."

All three wore the same shocked expression as they gaped at the Matchmaker.

Hermione, her heart still in her stomach, and iced over now, murmured as she shook her head. "The way I feel right now, they'll be lucky if they even get any _on_ the wedding night."

Draco scowled and Harry gave her a look that clearly said, _What did_ I _do?_

"Miss Granger, I understand you are a bit overwhelmed just now, but the marriage will not be considered finalized until it has been consummated."

Hermione's brow furrowed as she wondered aloud, "How will you even know—? Oh, my God. There's a spell woven into our rings, isn't there? Some sort of sensor?"

Drusilla nodded. "Do not worry, we cannot tell anything _specific_. Only that the terms of the engagement, and marriage, are being adhered to. It is this same spell that will act as a deterrent if . . . ." She leaned over her desk a little, speaking directly to Hermione. "If either one of them gets _too_ close."

At the wizards' bewildered expressions, Drusilla rolled her eyes. She was _trying_ for a delicate touch, but that was clearly not working.

Shoulders drooping, the Matchmaker shook her head. Honestly, three of the brightest students Hogwarts had ever seen sat before her . . . how could two of the three be _so_ bloody thick? "Fine, bluntly, then. If either of you tries to so much as stick a pinky in your bride-to-be, you _will_ be deterred."

"Oh, my _God_ ," Hermione said as she shrank down, covering her face with her hands. _Why_ did they make Drusilla have to _say_ it?

Draco and Harry simply stared at the witch behind the desk, each blushing furiously.

"Now," Drusilla said, forcing a smile and nodding as she reached for her scroll, once more. "Shall I owl you with the date for our next meeting?"

* * *

As the three trooped from the Matchmaker's office and into the corridor, Narcissa puzzled over why they all looked in such a state of shock.


	5. With Friends Like These

**Chapter Five**

With Friends Like These

Hermione slammed the book shut, glaring at the cover. Wincing at the sound, she looked up, checking that she'd not disturbed anyone. The other tables were deserted. Not that she was surprised, most everyone else had already clocked out for the evening.

Two days more had passed since the meeting with Drusilla, and she still had yet to find anything that even resembled an answer. She had thought for certain the divination texts in the Ministry's _extensive_ library would have something useful. Any little grain of information about the magic applied in the Matching that she could turn to her advantage, but _no_.

Thus far, it seemed the magic—though she still dreaded to think of divination as any such thing—was beyond tampering.

Sighing, she dropped her head down against the book's cover. _Bloody hell_. She might have to take Draco's offer of helping out with the research, after all.

A warm little pulse zipped through her at the thought. As _nice_ as that sensation was, she wasn't entirely pleased by it. Hermione didn't like the thought of being alone with him . . . not after the other night.

If she reflected on that moment at her front door too long, she actually felt her lips tingle. _Definitely_ not a good thing.

She sat back and passed the books to the corner of the table for the attending clerk to return to the shelves. This was supposed to have been a simple matter, she thought, impatiently tapping her quill against the scroll she'd held open before her. She'd taken the parchment out for the sake of jotting down notes and helpful bits of information, but _no_.

 _Another dream dashed by the Ministry_ ; big _shock, there_.

Biting into her bottom lip, she looked down at the looping circles she'd made while she'd been scanning the pages. Her gaze danced over to land on her ring, and then moved back to the loops.

Hermione knew there was a _chance_ she might not find a way out. She loathed that chance, but still, it existed, and that made her wonder.

Drawing another set of loops, she broke off from the design and glided the tip of the quill into writing _Hermione_. She froze a moment before adding on _Potter_.

For what seemed forever, she stared at the new name.

Unable to help herself, she jotted beneath it _Hermione Malfoy_. The bridge of her nose crinkled in distaste and she shook her head. Adding in a hyphen, she tacked _Potter_ onto the end of that.

 _Hermione Malfoy-Potter?_ She dipped her quill into the ink bottle and dashed a line through that. _Hermione Potter-Malfoy_? Hermione nodded and smirked. That was better, yes. It would irritate her future _father-in-law_ Lucius, no doubt, which alone, made that worth consideration. And anyone tempted to shorten her name for convenience would more likely chop off the _second_ part, leaving her right back at Hermione Potter.

Well, she thought—considering the notoriously pale and perfect hair of the Malfoy line, and Harry's hair, so dark and unruly, and by all accounts, a direct hand-me-down from his father—they'd certainly be able to tell who was the father of which future children easy enough, provided they didn't look like her, instead.

She snorted a quiet giggle in spite of herself at that.

"What's so funny?"

"Harry!" Hermione jumped up from her seat and spun, carefully snatching her _rather_ dedicated doodles in her hands behind her back. She wadded up the parchment and forced a smile. "Nothing, no, just . . . laughing at my own wasted efforts."

His brows drew upward, concerned over her anxious state. He hated the situation they were in, but he'd known trying to reverse the decision was probably a lost cause from the start. Not that he'd rob Hermione of her desire to try by saying so. "Have you eaten yet?"

"Hmm?" She shook her head, wondering why it was such a chore to focus just now. No, no, that wasn't precisely right. She _was_ focusing, only not on his words. Since that kiss in his parlor she'd found herself noticing—and focusing on—so many things she'd never really paid much attention to before.

How perfectly square the angle of his jaw was, the fullness of his bottom lip, framed by his neatly groomed facial hair. And his shoulders were actually sort of broad, though his frame was lean. Wait, was he lean, or wiry?

Before her gaze could drift to reflect the direction of her thoughts, she shook her head, snapping back into the moment.

"Sorry," she said, clearing her throat and shaking her head once more. Honestly! Harry wasn't having these issues being around her, so why should she have them around him? "No, I haven't."

"Well, c'mon, then." He turned on his heel and stuck out his elbow.

She hooked her arm through his and let him tug her from the library. "Where to?"

"We can go to that Irish place you fancy." He was absolutely _not_ paying attention to how, whenever she leaned too close to him as they walked, he could feel the soft pressure of her breast brushing his arm. He was _not_!

Her eyebrows shot up as she nodded. "Sounds good. You buying?"

He shrugged. If she could ignore anything left in the wake of that kiss the other night, so could he. "Of course! What man wouldn't treat his fiancée?"

She laughed at the lightness in his voice and slapped his shoulder.

* * *

"I'm telling you, it's _the_ spookiest thing, ever!" Harry folded his arms across his chest as he mimicked the stoic Auror façade. "We're all there, and suddenly, in the middle of this quiet moment during the meeting, there's this whirring sound. I glance over, and the thing is just whipping around and around on the wall, like it's _looking_ for something!"

Hermione covered a laugh with her hand, uncertain if she was more disturbed or amused by the mental picture of Ol' Mad Eye Moody's _mad eye_ —immortalized on a plaque in the Auror head office, as it was—jumping to life of its own accord.

"So, we're all looking around at each other—room full of _Aurors_ , for pity's sake—waiting to see who's going to go investigate, and—"

"Sorry to interrupt." A tiny little dollop of a woman appeared beside their booth, pad in hand. "Drinks to start?"

"Sure. Hmm." He nodded his head side-to-side. Remembering Mad Eye, even for a moment, put him in the mood for something that reminded him of Hogwarts.

Well, not _too_ much of Hogwarts. "Pumpkin ale."

"And for your date?" the waitress asked as she jotted down his drink order.

Any attempt to get back to the conversation they'd been having ground to a halt as they both stared at the portly little witch. Harry and Hermione mirrored each other's expressions, their jaws dropping a little.

"Um . . . ." Hermione forced the word out, her brow furrowing. "I'll have the same."

Nodding—and trying desperately to pretend she'd not inadvertently created an awkward moment—the waitress backed away as she noted the second order.

"Harry." Hermione met his gaze. " _Is_ this a date?"

To his credit, he looked as genuinely confused as she felt.

"No?" He shook his head, surprised, himself, that the word left his mouth as a question. "I mean, it's not _supposed_ to be. I didn't _plan_ for it to be."

She wasn't sure if that cleared things up, or made the matter foggier. "Do you . . . ?" Her shoulders drooping, she tried to quell the sudden rush of butterflies through her stomach. "Do you _want_ it to be?"

He watched as she chewed at her bottom lip. She'd always had that habit, but _now_ he found himself a bit fascinated with the way the gentle worrying of her teeth caused the delicate skin to redden.

Swallowing hard, he dragged his gaze back up to hers. The faint wash of pink in her cheeks told him she'd definitely noticed his slip.

"Do _you_ want it to be?" he asked, apprehensive, not of her answer, but of what her answer might mean.

For a long moment, they were both silent. She wasn't certain what to say. She didn't want to make things awkward between them—well, _more_ awkward than they were, already.

But then, they were _engaged._ Was it really such a mad thing for them to be on a date?

She dropped her gaze to the table top, shrugging as she began picking at the shiny, black lacquer with her fingernails. "It—it would be okay with me if it _was_."

Harry let out a breath he'd not realized he was holding. "Okay," he said, a half-smile curving one corner of his mouth upward.

He opened his mouth to say something more, but closed it again. Instead, he reached out, settling his hand over hers and stilling her anxious gesture.

The calming touch caused her to look up. Meeting his gaze as he stroked the pad of his thumb across her knuckles, Hermione smiled back.

* * *

Blaise arched a brow as he exchanged a look with Theo. Bright and early on a Saturday morning, the last thing either of them had wanted was to hear Draco ranting as they sipped their coffee in the— _otherwise_ peaceful—gardens on the Manor grounds.

But then, Draco didn't demand weekend mornings of anyone, unless it was important. Well, _Draco_ -important, which was slightly different from rest-of-the-world important. Of course, one couldn't actually _tell_ Draco that.

"Wait, wait," Theo said, setting down his cup and shifting on the dark-grey marble bench that ringed the enormous fountain. "So . . . you snogged _Granger_? Twice?"

Blaise winced as Draco halted, mid-pacing step, and spun on his heel.

"Are you . . . ?" Shaking his head, Draco raked his fingers through his pale hair in frustration. "What part of I'm _engaged_ to the woman, and have to share her with _Potter_ , failed to catch your keen attention?"

"Sorry, mate," Theo said, clearing his throat and shaking his head as he raised his coffee for another sip. "You know I'm useless before I finish my first cup."

His frame slumping, Draco threw up his hands and turned to Blaise, his expression almost helpless.

Blaise shrugged. "To be fair, these Matches are madness to start, we _all_ know this. But . . . honestly? Merlin's sake, Draco. This is making me hope there's a chance I'll be matched to _two_ witches, instead of one."

Theo chuckled into his cup and nodded. "Live the dream, Blaise."

"Why do I even talk to you two?" Draco asked, shaking his head as he took a seat on the bench between his friends.

" _We've_ been asking that for years."

Blaise greeted the sidelong glance Draco cast him with a charming grin.

"Look," Theo said around a yawn that garbled the word almost beyond recognition. "There's nothing to be done about the Match. We know that . . . but _you_ snogging Granger? Well, I suppose we knew it would happen, eventually."

Blaise bit hard into his bottom lip to hold in a laugh as Draco turned bewildered eyes on Theo. " _What_?"

"Every time you two got into a row when we were kids, the only thing stopping us from taking bets was the thought of having to answer to Pansy."

Scowling, Draco rolled his eyes. "Pansy thought so, too?"

Theo and Blaise exchanged another look. "Why do you think she hated Granger so much?" Blaise asked, unable to help a smirk. "The Mudblood-thing was only part of it."

"Okay." Theo set down his cup and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "So, twice, though?"

Draco shrugged, his expression a bit dazed. Honestly? _Was_ it possible there had always been something there? _No . . . ._ But, if there _was_ , had he been too thick to notice, or too stubborn?

"So then . . . ." Blaise paused, going on after an encouraging nod from Theo. "She's _good_?"

Letting out a breath, the pale-haired wizard lifted a hand, absently waving his fingers toward his mouth. "She does this thing with her teeth . . . . Wait, _wait_!

Theo and Blaise were laughing so hard, they nearly didn't hear him.

"You two are _not_ helping!"

"Just shag her and get it over with," Blaise said, shaking his head before taking a gulp of coffee.

"Oh, see, that would be an option, provided Granger _wanted_ to." Draco sat up pin-straight and frowned. "And oh, yes, ignoring that the Ministry has some sort of _deterrent_ in place to keep us from shagging until the wedding night."

"Wizarding tradition, thou art a heartless bitch," Blaise said, chuckling.

Draco only nodded, staring off.

Theo tapped his chin in thought. "What sort of deterrent?"

"No idea."

Blaise shrugged and gave a wink as he said, "Maybe you should find out. Good shag's worth a little pain, I'd say."

"Classy, as always, Blaise," Theo said, making a sleepy toasting gesture with his cup.

"Draco, darling?"

The young men all shot to their feet. Their expressions sobered instantly as Narcissa strolled up the garden path.

Her features were pinched and she held the Saturday edition of The Daily Prophet in one delicate, long-fingered hand. She paused, mid-stride to grace Theo and Blaise with polite nods of greeting.

She continued on to her son and held the paper out to him. "I . . . ." She cleared her throat and nodded before trying again. "I thought you should see it before you go about any plans you might have for today."

"See what?" He asked, as he took the paper and unfolded it.

"Someone in the Ministry is being chatty. I was hoping we would have a chance to announce the engagement, ourselves, before it—"

" _Bloody hell_!" Draco shouted, wide-eyed as he stared at the front page story.

Narcissa winced as she continued her statement half-heartedly. "Went public."

Theo and Blaise each moved to look over their friend's shoulder. Staring back at them were images of Granger, Potter, and Draco . . . over a headline announcing the unique, and 'clearly _fortuitous'_ Match.

Draco felt his stomach turn itself inside out as his gaze tripped over words like _joyous_ , and _historical_. Momentous? Honestly? He wondered how many people actually thought that, and how many simply shared Blaise's _hopeful_ perspective on the matter.

He handed the paper back to his mother, numbly shaking his head as he turned and started toward the Manor. "I'm _never_ setting foot outside, again."


	6. The Unexpected House Call

**Chapter Six**

The Unexpected House Call

"We're not even going to be able to walk into work on Monday morning without everyone pointing and staring!"

Harry pushed his glasses higher along the bridge of his nose as he looked over the front page of the Saturday edition of The Daily Prophet, again. Hell, just when he'd thought he couldn't manage to loathe that disgrace of a newspaper any more than he already did. Yet, _there_ it was.

He glanced up at Hermione, who was so livid she couldn't seem to stand still; the feistier-than-usual witch was bouncing on the balls of her feet as she paced about her flat in erratic loops. Well, now, they couldn't _both_ be spitting tacks about this. They would only feed off one another's anger, and neither of them would be able to think clearly.

But then, he couldn't say he expected much less when he popped up on her doorstep this morning with the paper in hand. He'd only been hoping to surprise her with a nice brunch after their awkward, but pleasant _first date_ just the other night.

Not even Muggle London's best cappuccino and croissants could take the edge off the ire raised by this mess.

Forcing down his rage, he cleared his throat. "Well," he started, his head tipping side-to-side, "on the bright side, this is a _great_ photo of you."

She wheeled to a stop directly in front of him. This was no time for his humor! She wanted him to be angry! To be outraged and hollering, right alongside her.

"You listen here, Harry I-can-say-what-I-like-because-I-saved-the-world Potter! I am in _no_ mood for—"

"Now, c'mon, Hermione." His voice was thoughtful as he lifted his gaze from the paper to meet her eyes. "You know perfectly well my middle name is James."

Pursing her lips, she snatched the paper from his hands and smacked him with it.

He chuckled and shook his head. "Sorry. Look, maybe it's not that bad. I mean . . . people were going to find out, eventually."

Her eyes narrowed in a soured expression.

"Okay, provided getting out of this isn't possible, people were going to find out, eventually."

Tossing her head back, she groaned and dropped herself to sit on the sofa. "Yes, fine, _eventually_. As in we would have had time to think about how people are going to look at us after they read about it, we would have had time to consider what we'd say when people ask about it."

Sitting beside her, he clasped his hands in front of him and shrugged. "For starters, I'd like us to make it clear that I'm only marrying _you_ , and not you- _and_ -Draco."

Hermione's frame drooped as she snorted a giggle in spite of herself. After a moment, though, her expression sobered. "Oh, _God_! Draco!"

Harry's brows pinched together as he watched her face. "Well, there's a collection of words I was hoping I'd _never_ have to hear."

"Harry," she said, a little whiny note lacing her voice. "Do you think Draco's seen the paper, yet?"

With a heavy sigh, he shook his head. "I don't—" The ringing of her bell cut his words short.

Harry bit his lip, holding back a scowl. "I swear, if that's him, now . . . ."

Hermione stood, shaking her head and crossing the flat to the door. As they stepped out into the corridor and made their way down the stairs, she was acutely aware of Harry's presence at her back. She wasn't entirely certain why he hadn't just stayed put, but then she guessed that if that was Draco, he wanted the Slytherin wizard to _see_ that he was there, relaxed, on a weekend afternoon . . . .

And almost _definitely_ wanted him to read more into the situation than there was.

On that note, between Draco snogging her, and Harry taking her on a date, she wasn't certain who they'd consider was _winning_ their unspoken competition.

Shaking her head, she ignored the irritation at the thought of being deemed a prize in any such context—after all, didn't she already have enough to be disgruntled over?—and pulled open the front door.

Hermione heard Harry's confused whisper over her shoulder, "Huh?"

She stared at the pale-haired witch in her impeccable black satin finery. "Mrs. Malfoy?"

"Miss Granger," Narcissa said, a small, watery smile on her lips. Her gaze flicked behind Hermione just long enough to acknowledge Harry with a polite nod. "Mr. Potter."

"I . . . don't mean to sound rude," Hermione started, all too aware there was still good chance the woman standing before her was _going_ to be her future mother-in-law. "But, um, what are you doing here?"

That small smile widening in the most awkward way, Narcissa let her gaze roam along the doorframe as she steepled her delicate, black-lace-gloved fingers in front of her. "I would like to ask your help. Have you seen today's issue of the Daily Prophet?"

Hermione winced, while Harry dropped his head back and groaned.

Narcissa's brows shot up and her smile faded. "I shall take that as a _yes_. Draco has seen it, also, early this morning. He has . . . ." She paused, forcing a gulp down her throat. "He has _not_ responded well."

Ignoring her awareness of how Harry tossed his hands in the air before he took a seat on the bottom step of the inside staircase, Hermione admitted to herself that she felt troubled by Narcissa's obvious concern for her son. Though, she thought perhaps if she chose to focus on Harry's attitude, she would easily read his displeasure over how Draco managed to be a master scene-stealer, even when he wasn't there.

"Not responded well in what sense?" as she asked, Hermione could swear she _felt_ Harry rolling his eyes.

"He locked himself in his room hours ago, and refuses to come out."

Hermione's face fell. As far as temper tantrums went, this might be mild—if decidedly even _more_ childish than one of his screaming fits. She'd half-thought Narcissa was about to tell her he was planning on murdering Drusilla before the entire Ministry.

Had _that_ been the case, however, Hermione wasn't certain if she'd try to stop him, or offer to help hide the body.

"You're a witch, just spell the bloody door open," Harry said with an exasperated sigh.

Hermione jumped a little at the sudden sharp look Narcissa angled in Harry's direction.

"Why thank you so very much, Mr. Potter, as such had _never_ occurred to me."

Biting her lip, the younger witch just barely managed to hold in her laugh. That bit of sarcasm falling so effortlessly from Narcissa Malfoy's lips was something she never expected to hear. Though, it _did_ make her see how it was that Narcissa and Lucius got on as well as they did—they shared the same quick, razor-edged wit.

Narcissa's shrug then was a graceful, fluid motion as she shook her head. "I have tried that, as has his father, and each time, Draco simply spells it shut, again. When I left, Lucius was arguing with him through the door." Another pretty shrug. "With their tempers, I suspect they are likely still at it."

Something about the older witch's demeanor—perhaps it was how mellow she was about her family's eccentric behavior, or simply how open she was about that very same thing—actually made Hermione want to grin.

Despite that want, however, her face pinched with curiosity. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy, but I don't understand. Why come to me?"

Narcissa's brow furrowed, making it clear she wasn't certain why that was even a question. "He is your fiancé; you _must_ speak to him."

Hermione swallowed hard as she nodded. "Um . . . ." Though it was a statement of fact, it was jarring to hear the word _fiancé_ from the lips of said fiancé's _mother_.

She couldn't even begin to consider that her _other_ fiancé was seated right behind her, listening to the entire exchange.

"I know you and Draco have a . . . strained relationship, Miss Granger," Narcissa said, pursing her neatly-painted lips as she chose her words, "but there is no denying you _do_ garner a response from him."

Hermione bit her lip to hold back a scowl as Harry feigned an indignant cough in the background.

"Please, you _must_ try."

"I . . . ." Hermione's voice died on her lips as Narcissa reached out and gripped her hand.

"Please?" she said, again, her delicate, pale brows pinching together.

The look on the other woman's face plucked at Hermione's heart strings.

"Okay," she murmured, nodding as she squeezed Narcissa's hand gently. "I'll try."

"What?" Harry's voice was tight with disbelief as he shot to his feet. When both witches looked at him, he glanced from Hermione to Narcissa, and back. "Well, if you're going, I'm going with you."

A wince flickered across Hermione's features. That was probably a really terrible notion, but then it was probably a good idea for the very same reason it was a terrible one. Her speaking to Draco _without_ some form of supervision wasn't likely to turn out well.

Fun, sure, but she doubted _fun_ and _well_ could be considered the same thing in this context.

"Very well, then," Narcissa said with a nod. She turned with a flourish and started down the stairs, gesturing with a lazy and graceful hand for them to follow. "If Miss Granger fails to get through to him, you _are_ welcome to try, Mr. Potter."

Hermione glanced back at Harry as they moved to trail after Narcissa. His irritation was such a palpable thing, she thought she could feel the hum of the spiky emotion against her skin.

He met her gaze, shaking his head as he muttered the words, "Yeah, imagine _that_ happening."


	7. A Visit with the In-Laws

**Chapter Seven**

A Visit with the In-Laws

As she followed Narcissa through the double doors of Malfoy Manor, Hermione expected . . . . Well, she wasn't entirely certain what she expected.

The last time she'd seen the place was when Voldemort and his lackeys had claimed it as their headquarters. It had been _dark_. The very walls had radiated the most miserable feeling imaginable, as though the floor might open up and swallow her whole at any moment.

Yet, now . . . .

As they walked through the foyer, she was delighted at the scent of fresh flowers that tickled her nose. Turning her head as they passed though and started up a short flight of stairs, she saw beautiful vases on either side of the foyer floor filled with bright-red roses.

Every grand window on the main floor was open, the heavy velvet curtains tied back by artfully looped ribbons of satin. Light gusts blew through from the gardens, and sunshine poured in vibrant splashes across the floor and walls.

This felt worlds away from the same place where Bellatrix had tormented her. It didn't _feel_ dark, at all. It felt . . . .

Hermione halted midstride, her chestnut eyes glimmering wetly as she stared around at all the gleaming, polished wood and pristine marble tiles. All the wide-open doors further along, and the curving staircase in the center with its plush, patterned rug covering the steps.

Harry stilled beside her, immediately slipping a protective arm around her shoulders. "If you don't want to be here—"

"No," she said forcing a sniffle as she shook her head. She was all too aware of how Narcissa paused at the foot of the staircase, her pale head turned toward them, and her gaze cast downward as she waited for them.

"No," Hermione repeated, a small smile curving her lips. "It's just . . . Malfoy Manor. It's _beautiful_."

Standing a little straighter, he blinked a few times in rapid succession as he let his arm fall away. "Oh," he said, though there was no masking the shock—and even mild disappointment—in his voice.

The last thing he wanted was for her to have to relive unpleasant memories, but he'd at least hoped she would have disliked the place a little bit. That she would have stopped, not because she remembered something awful, but because she didn't want to risk remembering.

That she simply would have been unhappy enough setting foot within the Manor again to say _no_ to holding the wedding there, at least. But the way she was looking around now, she might actually _like_ the idea. And he was already well aware he wasn't going to be able to say no to _her_.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione gave herself a shake at the sound of Narcissa's voice. "Right, sorry," she said as she started forward again to follow the other witch up the staircase.

As they neared the second floor, Harry and Hermione both winced as Lucius Malfoy's irritated hissing became audible. Hermione couldn't ignore the way Narcissa's shoulders sloped and she let out a sigh. It must pain her to let anyone see her family as less than perfect after how hard they'd worked over these last few years— _especially_ so, to let her future daughter-in-law see them this way.

She couldn't begin to think on just how it was that Draco's parents viewed Harry's role in their pending nuptials.

"I was right," the blonde witch said in an irritated tumble of words. "They _are_ still at it."

As they reached the landing, they turned as one to see Lucius at the end of the corridor. His arm braced against the door, he spoke through the polished oak panels in what certainly sounded like a seething whisper from their end.

The three started down the corridor just as Lucius said, "Young man, you are behaving like a child!"

"Oh, yes, Father!" Draco's spiteful voice was quite loud as it came through the door. "Because when _you_ refused to come out of your room for a week after the Reformations passed, that was so _very_ adult of you!"

Narcissa paused in mid-step. She sighed and shook her head, her elegant shoulders drooping further than they already had. Hermione and Harry each halted on either side of her.

The sidelong glance the older woman cast in her direction—as readable as if she opened her mouth and said _welcome to your future—_ was not lost on Hermione.

Holding up her hand, signaling Narcissa and Harry to stay where they were, Hermione started for Draco's door, again. And apparently just as a fuming Lucius was preparing to say something more.

His mouth open to speak, he cut his words off before they even began and looked up to see the witch storming toward him. Straightening up as he closed his lips, he looked past her to his wife, clearly surprised to see their guest.

Well, guest _s_ , as it seemed his grey eyes shot wider, still, when he saw Harry Potter standing there.

"Allow me, Mr. Malfoy," Hermione said through clenched teeth as she all but shoved him aside to stand squarely before his son's bedroom door.

She was wholly oblivious, now, to the way he stalked across the corridor. "What, may I ask, is _this_?"

"This is allowing someone your son might listen to just now to handle the situation," Narcissa said, her tone a mingling of bored and exhausted.

"Draco Malfoy, you come out here this instant!"

Harry's brows shot up as his gaze went from Hermione, to the door, and back.

"Granger?"

"Yes. Get out here!"

"No. You sound angry. Think I'll stay where I am, thanks very much."

Rolling her eyes in frustration, Hermione looked down the corridor to the three standing there. Shaking her head, she caught Narcissa's gaze and pleaded silently as she nodded toward the staircase.

Narcissa, to her credit, spun on her heel before forcefully grabbing each wizard by their elbows and turning them, as well. "Let us go downstairs. I will have the elves prepare some tea."

"Wait, what?" Harry asked, glancing back over his shoulder, even as Narcissa linked her arm through his—and her husband's—and began dragging them along with her.

The last Hermione heard from them was a brief, mildly confused exchange between Lucius and Harry.

"I see Miss Granger is here to help, but why are _you_ here, Mr. Potter?"

"If she fails to get him to come out, I believe your wife expects me to, I don't know, break down the door and drag him out by his throat, or something."

"You would not _dare_."

"Oh, _watch_ me, Mr. Malfoy!"

"Enough," Narcissa said in a growling whisper, before they moved beyond Hermione's ear shot, entirely.

Sighing, she shook her head and returned her attention to the door. "Look, if you're not going to come out, will you at least let me come in?" She'd waited quite intentionally for Harry's absence before she said this, because she knew he would not have reacted well to the idea of Hermione being alone with Draco in a bedroom.

She froze a moment as she heard the lock clicking on the door. Now that she considered it, perhaps this _wasn't_ the wisest decision she'd made recently.

Steeling her nerves—and trying to quell a sudden rush of butterflies through her stomach—she gripped the knob and turned, pushing the door open.

She poked her head into the room before she stepped through. Draco sat at a gorgeous, antique roll-top desk, his head hanging and that dreadful front page of the Daily Prophet staring up at him.

Stepping in and closing the door behind her, she wasn't terribly shocked that he didn't even bother to look up. Instead of waiting for him to say something, she crossed the room to stand at his shoulder.

Odd as it was, she found that she had to _deliberately_ tell herself not to make some overt gesture of comfort that might be misunderstood. They both kept making it clear they would be perfectly happy were this marriage-fiasco called off tomorrow; she couldn't confuse things any further than they already had been by doing something one might for their significant other.

"You know you can't stay in here forever."

Heaving a sigh, he sat back in his desk chair. "I hadn't intended to. I really just wanted to come in here, take some time to myself to calm down . . . . And then they started making a fuss and I reacted badly, which made Father react badly—"

"Which led to your mother thinking the best course of action was to invite _me_ here."

"Well," he said, glancing up at her briefly as a smirk curved his lips, "you'll have to forgive her. The woman's gone a little mad since the War, I think."

"Living with you and your father, and can't say I'm surprised," Hermione said, nodding.

"Funny." Draco shot to his feet, immediately pacing the room. "I mean, you saw the bloody thing, right? You can't possibly be as calm about it as you're playing at."

Her shoulders slumped as she moved to claim his seat, her head shaking. "No, no, of _course_ I'm not calm about it." Shrugging, she met his gaze. "I'm livid—Harry is, too—but all of us throwing tantrums _isn't_ going to help the matter, anyway. Article, or no article, nothing has changed about—"

"Oh, Merlin's beard! Did she bring Potter, too?"

Hermione winced, shrugging again. "Well . . . ."

"Bloody hell," he said through clenched teeth. "Why?"

She cleared her throat, shifting uncomfortably. Would it bother him to hear that Harry had been at her flat when Narcissa dropped by? Would it bother _her_ that it bothered him? Not ready to ponder how this situation might be affecting her feelings toward Draco Malfoy—and ignoring that she wasn't supposed to feel _anything_ toward him, at all—she decided on the safest answer.

"He's here to physically drag you out, should _I_ fail to convince you to leave of your own volition."

"Fine, fine," he said, shaking his head as he held up his hands and stopped pacing. "I'll go. Honestly, though. Why are we still in this mess? Have you really found nothing?"

"No!" She pushed up to stand, chestnut eyes narrowing lethally. "I haven't. And you could always make good on that offer to help, you know!"

"Well, fine, I will."

"Fine," she said, shaking her head and wondering why they were suddenly raising their voices. "Ministry library, Monday after work."

"I'll be there!"

"Good!"

For a few heartbeats, they merely glared at one another.

Hermione, reminding herself in a snide voice that maybe she _wanted_ to stall— because oh, _look_ , there was a bed right there! How _bad_ could the Ministry's deterrent be, anyway?—forced herself to speak. "You know, it's possible there _isn't_ a way out of this."

He nodded, swallowing hard. "I've considered that, yes."

"So . . . we might be stuck going through with it."

His features pinched as he scowled. "And we're still going to _try_ , Granger."

"I never said we _wouldn't_ keep trying to find a way out, Malfoy. God! I swear, sometimes it's like you and I don't even speak the same language!"

"I just want to be clear," he said, his expression so severe he was actually baring his teeth a bit as he spoke. "I'm not _willingly_ going into a marriage where I'm going to have to _share_ my bride."

"You've been _more_ than clear on that, thanks very much." She refused to ask the question his statement begged—that of whether he'd be fighting marrying her quite so strongly if Harry wasn't part of the equation.

Squaring her shoulders, she stepped closer and tipped her head back a little, peering up at him. "But if there isn't a way out, _neither_ of us will have a choice. You think Harry's happy about _sharing_?" She hated talking about herself like she was an object, but the very nature of their discussion was leaving her little choice.

"As if I care about what Potter thinks!" _There_ he went, raising his voice, again.

Sighing, Hermione shook her head. She was _so_ done with this! He didn't want to share, Harry didn't want to share. What about what _she_ wanted? Honestly, having two husbands was the stuff of smutty Muggle fantasy novels, yet she was already _over_ the scenario!

"Grow up, Draco!" She gave him a dissatisfied once-over as she spoke. "You're not the only one upset with all this. But if we're stuck, then you'll just have to _deal_ with it, like we will! And guess what? It's _fine_ with me if you're unwilling to share. Harry can just have me _all_ to himself, then, can't he?"

His jaw fell and he blinked a few times, clearly having trouble processing her words. "What?"

"That's how this works! You're marrying me, but you don't want me, right? So then you don't _have_ to share me. Don't worry your pretty little head about the matter." When he looked only further dumbfounded by her declaration, she forced a syrupy grin. "But if you _do_ want me, and you're not willing to share me, you don't get to have me at _all_."

Draco's brow furrowed as he watched her continue to speak, but he wasn't certain her words made sense. Did she actually _want_ this to happen?

"And that's just _fine_ , with me! I'll be free to focus _all_ my attention on Harry and you can just . . . sit around in your own little room, untouched. _Everyone_ will be happy."

" _All_ your attention on Potter, huh?" That . . . somehow struck a chord.

She nodded, a triumphant gleam in her eyes over the flicker of irritation that flashed across his features.

So why—oh, _why_ —did she next find herself sighing against his mouth as he slid his arms around her, pulling her tight against him?

His tongue plunged between her lips and she made a little whimpering sound in the back of her throat. She leaned into him, tilting her head as she stroked his tongue with her own.

Yet, somewhere, between his hands slipping down to cup her bum, and her breaking the kiss to nibble on his bottom lip, she tried to remind herself there was a reason they shouldn't be doing this. At least not here, and _certainly_ not right now. Just as she was ready to slip her arms around his neck, she recalled that Harry—and Draco's _parents_ —were on the floor just below them. Having tea, of all things!

She pulled away, forcing a breath.

"Pretty sure Potter's the one who'll be struggling for your attention, Granger," he said in a hushed murmur

Gritting her teeth, she shook her head, blindly grabbing his wrist as she turned away. "Shut _up_ , Malfoy," she whispered as she proceeded to pull him from the room. "It's not my fault you keep snogging me."

She could tell by his tone that he was smirking as he said, "Pardon? It might be to our mutual benefit for you to realize that, other than that first time in the Matchmaker's office, _you_ were the one who initiated the snogging. _Both_ times. I've simply been meeting you half-way"

Hermione froze in mid-motion at the second floor landing. Her recollection of the _precise_ chain of events in each incident _was_ a bit fuzzy. It was entirely possible Draco was actually telling the truth. Not that she minded as much as she knew she probably _should_ , but . . . .

 _Oh, dear, God_. Harry was _not_ going to be happy to hear about this.


	8. Ministry Interference Strikes Again

**Chapter Eight**

Ministry Interference Strikes Again

"That should really be left up to Hermione, don't you think?" Hermione heard Harry asking as she pulled Draco into the sitting room.

"Oh, well, of course I would leave the decision up to Miss Granger," Narcissa said, pausing to sip her tea—a dainty, manicured pinky in the air as she lifted her cup to her lips. "I was merely thinking aloud, Mr. Potter."

Lucius Malfoy, his grey-eyed gaze wandering in obvious boredom as he let the two chat, was the first to notice Hermione dragging his son behind her. She couldn't tell if the look that flashed across his face, causing him to fold his lips inward, was of mild confusion, or amusement.

Shaking her head, she asked, "What should really be left up to me?"

Harry and Narcissa both turned their heads toward the sitting room's entryway. Narcissa smiled politely, but Harry's attention shot straight to where Hermione's fingers circled Draco's wrist.

It was ridiculous, she thought, the way he set his jaw and narrowed his eyes at the sight. She wasn't holding hands with the other wizard, or anything of _that_ nature, after all.

But it did send a pang of guilt through her over what had just happened upstairs, and she found herself relinquishing her grip on Draco's arm.

Not oblivious to the silent interaction, Draco rolled his eyes. "You can't be serious," he said, muttering the words under his breath.

"I was talking with Mr. Potter about inviting your parents for tea, possibly next Saturday, if that suits you, Miss Granger." Narcissa pushed back from the table and stood in a graceful, sweeping motion. "After all, you still must introduce them to Draco, and you, your mother, and myself can begin planning our shopping trips. I would wish for at least the first few ventures to be boutiques where your mother is able to accompany us."

Hermione didn't know what to say for a moment. "Mrs. Malfoy, that's so thoughtful of you."

Narcissa's careful smile widened a bit. "Of course. I am trying to think how I would feel in her stead. I would want to know, and feel comfortable with the woman helping my daughter with such matters." She gave a delicate shrug. "And so I want to ensure that your mother will be comfortable with me, and thus with the idea of me taking you shopping without her, in the case of businesses to which she cannot travel."

It struck Hermione in that moment how very out of her way Narcissa Malfoy was going about this wedding nonsense. She'd never imagined Draco's pure-blood, elitist mother would go to so much trouble simply to ensure that _her_ parents were comfortable.

Actually, she'd simply assumed that things would be handled in a mostly clinical fashion between herself and her _possible_ future-mother-in-law. Now, however . . . . Now it made the center of her chest sting just a little to realize how much Narcissa wanted this to work.

Biting her lip as she collected her thoughts on the matter, Hermione nodded. "Again, that's so considerate of you," she said, when she finally felt her voice was steady enough to sound calm. "I'm sorry, I really don't know what to say. They—um, my parents—will probably want a look at the gardens, then, if we're to hold the ceremony here."

"Of course."

She diligently ignored Harry gaping at her, and the feel of Draco's eyes burning holes in the back of her head. Certainly she didn't like the notion of this marriage potentially becoming a reality, but Narcissa seemed so intent on the idea of it that she couldn't bring herself to crush that until they knew, for certain, that there was a way out.

Shrugging, she forced a grin onto her lips. "Well, at least my father will be happy he won't have to pay for a banquet hall."

The Malfoys all wore the same confused expression at that.

Oddly, Lucius was the one who spoke up—marriage or not, Hermione didn't imagine herself and her _possible_ future-father-in-law having very many conversations.

"Why would your father believe he was required to fund any of this?"

She felt strange, pivoting on her heel to have a direct conversation with him, but she forced herself to answer. "Well, my parents _are_ Muggles, sir. In many Muggle cultures, it is tradition for the bride's family to pay for the wedding."

"It is a wonder you stick to your upbringing so ardently, Miss Granger," he said with a shake of his head. "It is Wizarding tradition that the family possessed of greater financial standing is responsible for such things."

Her jaw fell a bit as she turned Lucius' words over in her head. As Muggles, her family—technically—had no financial standing in the Wizarding world. At least, not aside from the account they'd set up for her at Gringott's for the purpose of purchasing her school supplies when she'd begun at Hogwarts. Of course, she'd kept the account and still used it, herself, but even that was a pittance compared to what was probably in the Malfoy's _ancient and noble_ coffers.

Sighing, she shrugged once more. "Really?" she asked, only able to think on the practicality of Wizarding culture in this matter. "Why couldn't I have been born a Greengrass, or something?"

Harry snorted a chuckle, while Draco muttered, "If you were, we wouldn't be in this mess, now, would we?"

Frowning thoughtfully, she nodded. And then a horror-stricken look flashed across her features. "But then I'd probably wind up Matched to Justin Finch-Fletchley."

Both of her possible fiancés snickered at that.

When they quieted, Hermione found Narcissa watching her expectantly. "Oh," she said, fidgeting a moment under the scrutiny of the other witch. "I'll check with my parents if next Saturday works for them, and let Draco know on Monday."

"Monday?" Harry's brows shot up as he echoed the word, rising from his seat, finally. He forced a smile as his gaze leaped from Hermione to Draco, and back. "What's happening on Monday?"

Hermione refrained from glancing over her shoulder to meet Draco's eyes— that action would feel strangely conspiratorial, under the circumstances. "Draco is meeting me in the Ministry library to help with that research project I've been working on."

That seemed to quell Harry's curiosity, though she couldn't stop herself from wincing a little as he said, "Maybe I'll join you, if I'm free, then."

Already she could imagine getting a lot of not-much done on Monday night if these two spent the entire evening having competing hissy fits.

* * *

"You're not serious," Harry said, sitting down heavily on her sofa. His entire frame appeared to sag.

Hermione couldn't respond. She'd watched his face crumble a bit as she told him about what had happened with Draco . . . and a bit further, still, when she told him what Draco had said about their _encounters_.

She expected that he'd be angry with her, but he only looked sad. That she was the one to make him feel that way was more crushing than anything she'd felt in a long while.

"He's right, isn't he?" he finally asked, dropping his gaze from hers as he shook his head. " _If_ this marriage happens, there's never going to be even ground, is there? I'm going to have to fight for your attention, against someone who so _clearly_ already has it."

"Harry—"

"No, no, it'll be perfect. I'll make you smile and forget how rotten your day at work was, and then, the minute I turn my back, you'll fall, swooning, into the arms of Draco Malfoy!"

She recoiled at the bitter sharpness in his tone. She could barely remember any previous occasion of Harry speaking to _her_ this way. Okay, so perhaps he _was_ angry, as well as sad.

"Harry, stop it," was all she could say, her voice slipping out in a whisper as she fell into a sitting position beside him. "It's _not_ going to be like that."

"It already _is_ like that, Hermione," he said through clenched teeth.

Hermione caught one of his hands and pulled it between both of her own. "No, it isn't! I don't know what exactly is going on with Draco and me, but you and I have something _totally_ different. It's special, and it's deep, and it's probably the most wonderful sort of bond one person could hope to have with another!" She shook her head, wondering how he couldn't see this—wondering why she always came off sounding so old for her age when she tried to talk about her feelings. " _We_ have the sort of thing that I don't think I could _ever_ have with him."

He nodded, his mouth twisting in an unpleasant mockery of a smile. "Right, so I have your heart, but _he'_ s the one gets to play with the package it comes in?"

She sat back from him, her expression severe. "I can't believe you just said that. You know what? I think I was wrong! You and Draco, you _are_ alike."

His jaw dropped and his eyes shot wide behind the wire rims of his glasses. "He and I are _nothing_ alike, Hermione!"

"Oh, really? Then how come neither one of you considers _my_ feelings in all this?" She bit her lip, her eyes watering suddenly. When she continued, her voice slid out in a low tumble of words, "How come what _I_ want has become an afterthought to what you two want?"

Harry realized then that she was right—at least to a degree, and that was enough. He was so concerned about the possibility of her getting too close to Draco for his liking that he hadn't bothered to think that this was _Hermione_ , and she wasn't going to let herself be pulled in a direction she didn't want to go.

But if he kept acting this way, she might just decide she did want to. Honestly, he was lucky she was sparing him the _taking away my decisions denies me my personhood_ speech she'd given Ron, right before the _really_ big fight that had ended things between them.

He leaned near, closing the distance she had put between them when she'd slumped back against the sofa cushion, just now. "Hermione, I'm so sorry. I never meant to make you feel like—"

"Is this even really about _me_?" Her gaze darted from his left eye to his right, over and over, as she spoke. "Or is this about you not wanting to lose to Draco Malfoy?"

His brows drew upward as a surprised laugh rumbled from his throat. Harry shook his head as he reached out, taking both of her hands in his and squeezing them gently. "Hermione, this isn't to do with Draco, at all. I'm _so_ sorry if I made it seem that way."

She swallowed hard, dropping her gaze for a moment to touch on her fingers wrapped in his. "Then what?"

"It's that I'm afraid of losing _you_."

Hermione thought she felt something break in the center of her chest as she stared back at him.

He leaned closer, still, his eyes drifting closed as he pressed his forehead to hers. "Practically since the day we met, you've been the one constant thing in my life. You never turned your back on me, even when no one else wanted anything to do with me. Hermione Granger, the girl who was willing to walk away from everything to die beside me in the Forbidden Forest."

She laughed, sniffling a little. "As I recall, you wouldn't let me."

Nodding, he gave a shrug. "The point is you were willing to. When you walked out of Drusilla's office and told me we were Matched . . . I really think I accepted it so readily, because part of me felt like it didn't _just_ make sense, but like it was perfect."

Hermione smiled and shook her head—typical Harry Potter, such a romantic deep down inside—but remained silent, sensing that he wasn't quite finished, yet.

"Then you told me that somehow Draco bloody Malfoy was part of the deal, and even then I thought it would be okay, because it would be us against him, just like at Hogwarts, except he'd be living with us, like a particularly disagreeable housemate." He paused for a breath, pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. "Then he kissed you . . . and you kissed him _back_."

"Harry, I'm sorry."

"No, no. You're not, and I don't want you to be." He frowned and gave a shrug. "Chances are we're stuck with him, or, _you_ are, anyway. And I don't know what's going on with you two, but I can't ask you to ignore him, I know that. Whatever else happens, between you and me, or you and him, or if I murder him one night while you're fast asleep, so you can claim plausible deniability when he _mysteriously_ vanishes . . . ."

Hermione couldn't help a giggle at that.

"Whatever else happens," he said again, shaking his head, "I need to know we're going to still be, well, _us_ , Hermione."

"Oh, Harry," she said, another laugh—softer than previous one—escaped her as she slipped her hands from his to cup his face.

In hindsight, she might say she wasn't quite thinking when she kissed him in such an emotional moment. But then, she also might say it was the perfect moment in which to kiss someone.

His fingers sank into her hair, and his other arm slipped around her waist, pulling her closer. He caught her bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling and suckling at the delicate skin the way she'd done to him the first time they'd kissed.

She made the sweetest little mewling sound in the back of her throat before she broke the kiss.

Harry lifted his brows in question.

"So _that_ 's what that feels like," she said in a breathless whisper.

He didn't bother to answer, leaning into her for another kiss, and receiving a pleasant jolt when she immediately opened to him. He felt her sigh into his mouth as she caressed his plunging tongue with her own.

Hermione made the most perfect sounds, he thought. Little content rumblings in the back of her throat, and tiny moans that he almost couldn't hear over the sound of rustling as she shifted forward to sit in his lap.

She felt his hands slip beneath her shirt, and she lifted her arms, taking her mouth from his only long enough for him to tug the fabric up over her head and arms and toss it aside. There was some, little nagging voice telling her that they should stop— or at least slow down—but she was too busy taking his hands in hers and guiding them to cup her breasts.

Harry knew they shouldn't be letting it get this far so quickly, but he was a bit distracted from rational thought just then, as he teased her nipples into tight little points through the satiny fabric of her bra. He was entirely too focused on the feel of her suckling and nipping at his tongue to really worry about anything more important, just then.

There was the strangest sense that this was something that had been waiting _forever_ to happen.

He slipped one hand from her breast to circle her waist, pulling her more tightly against him.

Through her leggings, she felt him . . . . A sweet, tingling shock pulsed and rippled, as she noticed that he was already hard beneath her movements.

A satisfied growling sound tore out of him as he slid his hands to cup her bum, pulling her against him in rocking motions.

She broke the kiss, letting her head fall back.

And then was unpleasantly jostled backward as a sharp slapping noise cut the air.

Catching her breath, she blinked several times in rapid succession while Harry stared at his left hand like he'd never seen it before. Hermione gave herself a shake as she shifted back, warily eyeing her best friend, and the arm which had apparently developed a mind of its own.

"Harry?" she said, her voice slipping out in a mildly confused whisper.

"Yes, Hermione?" He tried—not for the first time—to remove the purple-red crystal band, but it wouldn't budge.

"Did . . . ?" She licked her lips and tried again. "Did you just give yourself a smack?"

"Uh-huh."

Hermione winced as she noticed the redness in his cheek. "Oh, _God_! The deterrent Drusilla mentioned!"

"But I didn't stick anything—"

"Maybe it's my leggings, I mean . . . ." She felt heat flood her face as she tried to put it into words. "I mean, I certainly _felt_ you well enough through them."

Distracted momentarily, one of his brows flicked upward as he asked, "Really? And?"

She barely refrained from laughing. "And you should be quite proud. Now can we focus, please?"

"Okay, okay. Let's test this, just to be sure I'm not having some sort of fit."

"Harry, I don't know that that's such a good . . . ." Her voice trailed off as he cupped a hand between her thighs.

She felt her face warm once more as he held her gaze while he rubbed the heel of his palm against her. There was that delicious, tingling warmth pulsing through her again.

Harry winced, bracing himself as he pressed the tips of his fingers into— _slap!_

" _Definitely_ the Ministry's deterrent."

"Harry, you idiot," she said, her features pinched in an apologetic cringe as she watched him square his jaw, his head shaking.

"I don't know; it might've been worth it."

Hermione only held his gaze, her expression questioning as she reached for her shirt and pulled it on.

He waited until she was done before he leaned in, pressing a quick, sweet kiss to her lips. "Now we've got a good idea of how much we can get away with."

Laughing, she slipped her arms around him in a hug. She couldn't imagine what would happen to someone determined to ignore the deterrent, picturing the spectacular flurry of self-inflicted slaps that would be dealt to the groom-to-be.

 _No one_ would be able to focus with that happening. It made sense, though, as it was _certainly_ distracting—and stinging, if Harry's reddened cheek was any indication—while not truly harmful, or lasting.

As he hugged her back, the worst possible sentence she could've spoken in that moment fell from her lips.

"We should probably warn Draco," she said, as she was nearly positive he wouldn't handle the unhappy surprise nearly as well as Harry had.

"Or we could just . . . not."

"Harry James Potter," she said, leaning back in his embrace to meet his gaze. "Wouldn't you have preferred to know?"

He nodded. "Sure, but if things are going to happen between you two, anyway, then . . . ." He tried not to grin as he said, "I see no harm in letting him find out the same way I did."


	9. Draco Malfoy and Muggle Studies

**Chapter Nine**

Draco Malfoy and Muggle Studies

"I'd slap myself in the face? _Really_?" Draco couldn't help laughing as he restated Hermione's warning on Monday evening in the Ministry library. "That's just so . . . ."

She pointedly busied herself with retrieving the divination books from the shelves as his voice trailed off.

"Wait. Are you telling me you and Potter almost—?"

"We didn't almost _anything_ , Draco," she snapped, causing his brows to shoot up in response. She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, calming herself before she continued. "We were . . . not really doing _that_ much more than you and I have done, already. The spell on the rings is apparently just a little . . . over-reactive."

"I see," he said, his teeth clenched a bit more tightly than he would have expected as he watched her set half the books before him, and then sit across from him, claiming the other half for herself.

Hermione tried to play off that his irritation bothered her with a casual shrug. "Please tell your mother my parents said tea on Saturday would be lovely." Dammit all, her voice just shook a little.

She had refused to look at him as she'd explained, in a very general and roundabout way, what the deterrent was. Now, as she stuck her nose into the first of the texts on her side of the table, she sneaked a glance at him.

Apparently realizing he was waiting for her to look up at him, she started a little, biting hard into her bottom lip as she returned her attention to her book. She looked a bit . . . guilty, he thought.

He wondered if he should acknowledge that he sort of liked that she felt bad admitting to him what had happened between her and Potter. And here he'd thought she had reserved all of _those_ sort of emotions for her _other_ fiancé.

 _Interesting_. Draco hid a smirk as he started reading.

Their time researching was quiet, and—much to Hermione's surprise—almost pleasant. She bit her lip to hold in a laugh as it occurred to her that Draco Malfoy actually might've been the ideal review-partner back during their Hogwarts days. Not simply because he was the only one close to her marks in classes, but because if the easy silence between them as they both poured over the tomes before them was any indication, he showed the same respect for determined studying as she did.

Harry and Ron had been . . . less than exemplary in that regard.

Draco shifted in his seat, and she glanced up in time to see him stretching. As the sight made her wonder just how many hours they'd been there—and she fought to ignore the reminder of how long and lean his limbs were, fought not to notice the way the fringe of his sleek, pale hair fell across his eyes when he tipped his head to one side as he moved—she heard the distinct rustle of something brushing against paper.

Arching a brow, Draco leaned down, peering beneath his side of the table. The toe of his shoe had struck a piece of wadded up parchment, wedged between one of the table's legs and the marble column beside it.

He frowned as he ducked down and retrieved the parchment, unballing it as he sat up, again. "What's . . . ?"

When he fell quiet, Hermione looked up from her reading. "What's what?"

That brow still high on his forehead, his mouth puckered, causing quite the remarkable scowl to overtake his features. "Hermione Potter . . . Hermione _Malfoy_ . . . ?"

Her jaw dropped. "Oh, dear _God_ , no!" She was out of her seat so fast, one would have thought the chair had erupted in flames.

This was the same table she'd sat at when Harry had come in to find her last week. The same table where she'd made—and subsequently crumbled up—those silly, half-arsed doodles when she'd let her mind wonder _what if_ for just that moment. That the diligent, house elf cleaning staff had managed to miss it made her briefly wonder if she might be cursed.

She rounded the table, but was stymied from snatching the parchment from him as he held it away from her. He braced his shoulder against hers as she tried to reach across him.

"Hermione Malfoy-Potter. Hermione Potter-Malfoy." He turned his head, meeting her gaze. "What _exactly_ am I looking at, Granger?"

She made another swipe for the parchment, but he moved it easily out of her reach. Making a little growl-like sound in the back of her throat, she stamped her heel. "It's _nothing_ , Malfoy. Honestly!"

"Nothing, really? I thought we were _both_ not happy with this situation. I thought we _both_ wanted to find a way out."

Hermione stopped reaching, her frame slumping as she leaned against his shoulder, still. "We both _do_! Of _course_ I'm not happy with this! I—I don't want to marry you now _just_ as much as I didn't want to marry you two weeks ago!"

"So you were scribbling your possible future surnames because . . . ?"

"I don't know, I just . . . I was in here looking for an answer and I . . . ." Shoulders drooping, she straightened up and stepped around him. Pulling out the chair beside his, she fell into it, her entire demeanor deflated. "I _am_ looking for a way out, I _am_ trying to find one."

He wasn't looking at her, his grey eyes tracing the letters on the slip of parchment in his hand.

"But, I couldn't help but wonder, because I know there's a chance there isn't a way out. You know it, too, we've even said as much to each other before. More than once, in fact." She took his grudging nod as an invitation to continue. "I don't know _why_ you'd think I would lie about that, or how you'd think I'm okay with this situation just because I had a flight of fancy about a _possible_ road our lives might go down."

Letting out a sigh, he met her gaze, but still didn't respond.

" _Seriously,_ now, Malfoy," Hermione said, shaking her head at him. "You and Harry have caused me more romantic stress over the last two weeks than I've endured, _cumulatively_ , since I the first day I started liking boys!"

He snorted a chuckle, his shoulders shaking.

Allowing herself a small grin, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "I promise you, I am _just_ as committed to _not_ marrying you as I ever was!"

Draco nodded. "There'll still be . . . snogging until we get this wedding called off, won't there?"

Uttering a scandalized gasp, she swatted his shoulder. Though, as she stood, she couldn't help a shrug as she muttered, "Probably."

Snatching the parchment from his hand, she was careful to deposit it in the rubbish bin—as she _should_ have done in the first bloody place—before she returned to her side of the table and sat. Hermione dropped her attention back to the quiet, familiar comfort of reviewing the text before her.

Several minutes passed before Draco made an observation, his tone one of distraction as he skimmed the passages with the tips of his fingers. "If we fail at this, I . . . well, I just would have thought you'd keep your maiden name, is all."

She nodded absently, chewing her lip. After a few more moments, his words sank in.

Raising wide eyes to lock on him, she asked in a startled whisper, " _What_?"

Draco lifted his gaze, starting a little at the serious look on her face. "What?"

"I . . . ." She licked her lips and started again. "I'm a bit confused right now, Draco. Witches have _always_ taken the name of the family they're marrying into. A bride retaining her maiden name is a _solely_ Muggle convention." She knew! She'd bloody well looked it up, and no witch in the history of Wizarding Britain had _ever_ retained her maiden name. She was planning to petition the Ministry for the right to choose her name for herself, _if_ it came to that.

But _this_ was unexpected.

His brows shot up and he darted his gaze about, as though he hoped an acceptable answer would appear somewhere.

"How did you—a pure-blood Muggle-hater—find out about it?"

Forcing a breath, he pretended he could return his focus to his studying as he spoke. "Well, when you first pointed out that there might not be a way out . . . and Drusilla had you choosing all these things that were commonplace for pure-bloods, but obviously not for you . . . I got curious."

"You, Draco _Malfoy_ , invested time in learning something Muggle-related?" Her expression was so shocked it bordered on comical. "On _purpose_?" She nearly tacked on the words _for me_ , but spotted what a spectacular misstep that would be before those dreaded, feelings-laden syllables could spill from her mouth and bit her lip, holding them back.

" _You_ invested time wondering what your married name might be if this disaster comes to pass," he said, shrugging, but refusing to meet her gaze again.

A sudden flush of color spotting her cheeks, Hermione exhaled heavily and dropped her attention back to her text. She did not feel anything _remotely_ like a little bloom of warmth in the center of her chest, she did not. She did _not_!

She also _didn't_ notice the way Draco had slouched in his chair, his legs stretched out beneath his desk so that his heels rested under her chair. And she _certainly_ didn't think for a moment on the way she'd shifted just a bit in her seat, so that her ankle pressed lightly against his.

And it _absolutely_ didn't matter one little bit to her that they sat that way, absorbed in their reviewing, until the Ministry librarian kicked them out at closing.


	10. Unintentionally Selfish

**Chapter Ten**

Unintentionally Selfish

Hermione pushed aside her tea and dropped her head against the table of ornately twisted wrought iron. Luna and Cho exchanged a glance, each frowning before they returned their attention to their friend.

Spending her Friday evening relaxing on the lush, wild lawn that surrounded the Lovegood home had seemed such a wonderful idea. But the dreadful notion of what was to happen tomorrow loomed over her like some dark, inky cloud of yuck and awfulness. For three days, she and Draco—and even Harry for intermittent spurts of time when he could get away from the Auror Department at a decent hour—had poured over everything they could get their hands on in the Ministry library.

Late Wednesday night, when Hermione had absorbed so much information on a subject she so dreaded that she felt her eyes might literally fall from her head out of sheer aggravation, they decided to put a hold on further research until next week. They still had to make it through their families meeting tomorrow—an event she imagined Harry would simply sit back and observe with glee as things tumbled down into flames, wreckage and ruin, like an aircraft crashing into the earth—had yet to arrange their next meeting with Drusilla, despite that they were overdue for it, and hadn't discussed any of the things the Matchmaker had asked them to make decisions about.

There was still a little over five months until the wedding, they agreed that seemed _plenty_ of time to find their much-hoped-for way out. Yet, if those many, many days ahead were just as hectic as these last two and a half weeks, she suddenly wondered if they both might be a bit . . . optimistic about their odds.

"It can't be that bad," Cho said, a hopeful tone edging her voice as she reached over to pat Hermione's shoulder. "Muggles are generally more accepting of unconventional things than Wizarding families, aren't they? Maybe they'll get on better than you expect with the Malfoys."

Hermione sat back, looking at them—and ignoring that they couldn't help giggling at the crisscross pattern she knew now decorated her forehead from the table's design. "Let's think about that for a moment, shall we? My parents and the Malfoys, having afternoon tea! I know I agreed to it, but now that it's _right_ there, it just seems so completely absurd."

Picking at her nails, she shrugged as she went on. "I mean, I suspect Mum and Mrs. Malfoy might actually be okay together—and Mum adores flowers, so Narcissa Malfoy will likely have her at the words 'rose garden.' But my father? My father . . . having tea with _Lucius_ Malfoy? Can you even picture it?"

"Actually, yes," Luna said with a nod, her tone and expression bright. Then she cracked a slip of a mischievous grin. "No one said you can't add some Fire Whiskey to their cups."

Cho and Hermione both broke into giggles at the imagined scene of her father and Draco's having some drunken discussion—slurred speech and dramatic, sloppy gestures, included—in the middle of the afternoon.

Hermione glanced up then, spotting Xenophilius Lovegood watching them from the parlor window. Sighing, her shoulders slumped. "Speaking of fathers . . . ."

Chewing her bottom lip, Luna turned her head to follow her friend's gaze, just in time to see her father's pale, unkempt head disappear. "He still feels bad about what he did during the War."

If Hermione's shoulders drooped any further, she'd be sitting under the table, she thought. "You've told him I don't blame him, right? I _know_ he was only doing what he thought he had to do to protect you."

"Of course I have, but you know fathers."

"I think I know why you're really upset," Cho said, breaking up the sudden, mild tension of the moment. "And it's _not_ to do with how . . . _unbelievably_ disastrous tomorrow afternoon might be."

Wincing, Hermione finished her tea and set down the cup. She loved that her friends matched her intellect in their own, unique brands of it; she wasn't so sure she loved their occasional, discomforting insights, however.

"Go on, then."

Cho's brows drew together and the bridge of her nose crinkled, making for a pained expression. "You're worried that the longer it takes you to find a way out, the longer you have to adjust to the idea of marrying Harry _and_ Draco. The longer you have to get used it."

"And the less I'll actually _want_ to remove Draco from my pending nuptials, is that it?"

"Are you telling me it's not at all possible?"

Hermione held Cho's jet gaze, a frown tugging the corners of her mouth downward. "I'm saying I don't want to think along those lines. What if . . . ? What if this works, and it helps others get out of undesirable matches, too?"

The Gryffindor witch realized what she'd said, and to whom, only after the words had fallen out of her mouth. Luna and Cho had accepted their inevitable futures—though neither had been called for their Matches, yet—with such grace.

Now Cho looked a little hopeful, while the delicate skin beneath Luna's dreamy blue eyes wrinkled in thought.

"Help others?" Luna smiled gently. "Hermione, _I'm_ supposed to be the one prone to flights of fancy. We all know it'll be a long-shot if you and Draco manage to find a way out of this, no use getting others' hopes up, is there?"

Cho bit her lip, her shoulders sloping as she dropped her gaze to the tabletop.

Still with that sweet, peaceful grin, the blonde witch picked up the ceramic pot from the center of the table and stood. "I think I'll just step inside to fetch some more tea."

Holding in a sigh, Hermione watched Luna vanish into the mad-looking house. When she turned back to Cho, she found the other young woman still staring down, dejected.

"I'm so sorry, Cho, I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay, Hermione," Cho said, her ebony hair swinging about her shoulders as she shook her head. "It just . . . it just gets difficult knowing this can't last."

Hermione reached out, resting her hand over Cho's and giving a delicate squeeze. "Have you two talked about what you're going to do when one of you is called to be Matched?"

Cho turned her head to look toward the house. "No, we're just trying to exist in the moment."

"Maybe there's something we can do!" Hermione waited for Cho to look at her again before going on. "This is technically a different circumstance. Perhaps we can petition the Ministry to—"

"Luna doesn't want to make a fuss about it. We're just going to cross that bridge when we come to it." Cho's tone sounded positive, but she looked ready to burst into tears at any moment.

Hermione frowned, feeling her own eyes well up in response to her friend's obvious anguish. "But what do _you_ want?"

Cho blinked, forcing a single tear free as she sniffled. "I want Luna to be happy," she said, but the words trembled on her lips and her voice broke on the word _happy_.

Opening her mouth, Hermione searched for something to say, despite the feeling of her throat clogging, of having to give a sniffle of her own. But then they heard the door of the house open, and instantly Cho sat up pin-straight, wiping her cheek and forcing a smile.

Taking a cue from her—albeit it unhappily—Hermione sat back as well. She swallowed against that uncomfortable sensation in her throat and gave herself a shake. She hated that she hadn't even thought of their circumstances, but they just seemed so happy all the time it was hard to picture Luna and Cho allowing anything to come between them.

"So," Luna started as she poured a fresh round of tea before settling in her chair. "We should talk about the bridesmaids' dresses for your wedding."

"You mean should this fiasco come to pass?" Hermione asked as she lifted her cup for a sip.

"Well, you are hoping for the best case scenario of simply removing Draco from the equation, right?"

"Right."

"So that means you'd still be marrying Harry, so either way, in five months you're—Oh!" Luna was all vibrancy and sunshine, once more, as she said, "Can _I_ pick the dresses?"

Cho couldn't help but laugh as Hermione choked on her tea, the memory of a rather _odd_ , layered dress of metallic fabric dancing through her mind.

As the evening returned to light chatting and carefree joking, Hermione wondered if perhaps she'd been thinking too small. Too selfishly. She began to consider that maybe it wasn't enough to change the answer.

Maybe . . . maybe if she _could_ correct the source of the problem—never mind that the Ministry and every other governing body of the Wizarding world had already tried and failed multiple times—she could keep her friends as they were now.

Happy, and together. And so blissfully uncomplicated in this moment that she couldn't help but envy them.


	11. Yet Somehow, It's Worse

I have started my own mini-FB group for dark-themed fics ( _Dark Hearts, Dark Arts_ ). For those interested, I have posted the link on my FFN Profile Page.

* * *

 **Chapter Eleven**

Yet Somehow, It's Worse

Hermione stopped again, looking back over her shoulder. Her father had paused on the front walkway—not for the first time—merely staring up at the imposing manor, an unpleasant expression on his face.

Harry and her mother had halted, also, eyeing the man warily. It seemed everyone expected him to explode any moment, and Hermione was beginning to think that if he was going to do so, she'd rather he do it _now_ than while in an enclosed space with Lucius Malfoy.

Sighing, she pivoted on her heel and walked back to him. Looping her arm through her father's, she started dragging him along. "C'mon, Dad. _Please_ don't make this more difficult than it needs to be." They'd already had this discussion _so_ many times over these last two and a half weeks, she was sick to her eyeballs of it.

William Granger swung his head back to look at Harry. "Harry . . . . _You're_ certainly not all right with this—this _situation_ , are you?"

"Not even remotely," Harry said with a smirk. Shaking his head, he shrugged. "But then, neither is anyone, so we're just trying to all make the best of it."

"Thank you, Harry." Hermione nodded. "Look, Dad, I know this isn't exactly ideal, and I'm not going to pretend as though I expect you and Lucius Malfoy to become best friends, but _Narcissa_ Malfoy is trying very, _very_ hard to make this as palatable for everyone involved as possible. It's the least you can do to be a polite guest. You might well be the first Muggles _ever_ invited here; you should want to make a good impression."

"Fine," Dad said, lifting his free hand to adjust his tie as they stopped before the door. "The things I do for you, young lady." Despite his words, his tone was loving.

A smile curving her lips, she stood on her toes to drop a kiss on her father's cheek. "I know, Dad. I _promise_ , this will be the one and only time I invite you to tea with my two fiancés and my future in-laws."

Arching a brow, he tried to repress a grin even as he said, "You're not funny."

"You've no idea how many times I've told her that."

Hermione's bright expression turned into a scowl at Harry's quip, though it managed to make her father laugh, so she supposed that was a plus.

"You're certain we're not overdressed, Sweetheart?" Hermione heard her mum ask as she pulled the bell.

Without bothering to look, Hermione knew the woman was fussing with the sleeves of her black dress—elegant for its simplicity and accented by silver statement jewelry. "No, Mum, believe me. You'd feel _under-_ dressed around these people, otherwise."

Her parents could fuss all they liked—they were here, and they looked spectacular. Even Harry . . . .

Hermione thought Harry looked _quite_ dashing in his understated collarless black silk button down and matched trousers. If she had anything to say on the matter, she was going to start finding excuses to dress him up like this more often. Perhaps if she told him she'd dress as she was now, that might help—she'd caught him, quite a few times, tracing over her legs with his gaze when she'd looked back at him.

It was still a new sensation to feel her pulse quicken and her heart flutter because of her best friend Harry Potter, but she decided she rather enjoyed it.

When the polished double doors opened, Hermione's father gave a start beside her. She looked to find him holding the gaze of a house elf. Bloody hell, she'd forgotten to warn them that the Malfoys had managed to retain some of their elves following the War. Though she did find herself pleased that the diminutive creature was clad in clean, neatly-cut fabrics—they didn't qualify as _clothes_ , of course, but this was certainly a step up from what she expected of any elves still in service to pure-bloods, even with the guidelines of the Post-War Reformations.

Forcing a grin, she said, "Good afternoon. Mrs. Malfoy is expecting us."

The elf narrowed her enormous eyes at them and nodded. "Mirell will fetch Mistress."

As Mirell turned and toddled off, William could do nothing but gape after her.

Hermione frowned and tugged at her father's arm. "Dad! Don't stare, it's so rude," she said in a whisper, her tone admonishing.

Clearing his throat, her father nodded, averting his gaze just moments before Mirell returned. The Lady of the House trailed behind the elf on graceful footfalls.

In her typical black lace fineries, and her gleaming platinum hair hanging sleek and perfect against her shoulders, Narcissa Malfoy looked as though she'd stepped from the set of a Victorian Era-themed modeling shoot. Hermione winced inwardly as the woman smiled—she could just _feel_ her mother raising a self-conscious hand to her own reddish-brown locks. Well, at least they'd know which of her parents to blame for _her_ hair.

"I see what you meant," Mum said in a barely-audible whisper.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder. Sure enough, Mum was smoothing her palm over her hair; ignoring that it was _also_ gleaming and they'd tamed its natural bushiness into glorious curls that fell beautifully down her back, thanks to the guidance of a simple silver headband.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter, I am delighted to see you, again." Narcissa waved them inside as she met the gazes of Hermione's parents in turn. "Do come in."

After they crossed the threshold, Hermione realized she might be behaving rudely by Narcissa's exacting standards. She hurried to correct the misstep before the woman had the chance to give her an eloquent look to back up the feeling. "Mrs. Malfoy, these are my parents, William and Dahlia Granger. Mum and Dad, Narcissa Malfoy."

"I am pleased to welcome you both into my home. Dahlia?" Narcissa's perfectly arched brows rose, her eyes lighting as she met Dahlia's gaze. "You are named for the flower, are you not?"

"Why, yes," Dahlia said, a smile curving her lips as she relaxed visibly. "Blue dahlias were my mother's favorite."

"Oh." Narcissa swept over and laid a gentle hand on the other woman's forearm. "Then I believe you shall truly appreciate our gardens. We have some _very_ lovely species of dahlias amongst our blooms."

William and Harry watched, vaguely mystified as Narcissa and Dahlia started through the house, arm-in-arm.

"How do women do that?" William asked.

Harry shrugged in reply and both men pinned their gazes on Hermione. She shrugged as well, shaking her head. "Don't look at me." All her friendships with other females had formed over time, making her a rather inadequate source of information on this particular matter.

Frowning at them, she turned and trailed after her mother and— _possible_ —future mother-in-law.

By the time she entered the sun room, she found Lucius standing, politely, though he looked expectantly tense, as Narcissa introduced Dahlia and made some light conversation. Draco, though he was standing, as well, was staring down at the toes of his finely-polished black shoes.

Though her own footsteps had struck silent against the plush carpet as she stepped into the room, her father and Harry were not by any means quiet. It was enough to make a girl cringe; bulls in a china shop, these two.

Lucius looked over at the three as Dahlia and Narcissa fell into some hushed discussion that didn't seem to truly include him, anyway. Arching a brow, he made no small show of nudging Draco with his elbow.

Draco glanced toward the door—his expression very much stating that he wished this afternoon was already over and done with—only to do a double-take, his brows shooting up.

Even with her father and her _other_ fiancé standing at her shoulders, Hermione couldn't help a blush at the way Draco's grey eyes moved over her. Her normally wild hair was pinned to the back of her head in an almost-sleek twist, showing off the small silver butterflies that dangled from her ears. Her dress was a form-fitting black satin, that attached to a matched choker by an ornate silver brooch and flared out just a little at her hips, allowing the knee-length hem to flow and sway easily as she moved.

And just now she was rather certain she _was_ moving, though that movement was more of a nervous shifting in place than anything remotely graceful or elegant. There was just _something_ about the wash of pink that tinted the pure-blood wizard's cheeks as he stared at her just now that made her heart hammer in a chest.

The look had not gone unnoticed by Harry, apparently. He stepped up beside her and slipped an arm around her waist.

Her shoulders slumped and that blush drained from her cheeks, even as she heard her father whisper in a more-amused-than-it-should-be tone, "Uh-oh." Hermione was _far_ less amused by the territorial display, but didn't want to appear as though she was favoring either one of the young men by deliberately stepping out of Harry's light grasp in front of Draco, either.

God, these two were going to drive her mad _long_ before these five months were up!

Hermione could tell by his expression that Draco was barely refraining from rolling his eyes as he stepped around her other side to speak directly to her father.

"Mr. Granger, I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, extending his hand.

She knew Dad was simply trying to be polite as he shook Draco's hand and said, "It's William."

To her—and probably Harry's—surprise, the pale-haired wizard said, "I would prefer Mr. Granger until we're better acquainted, if you wouldn't mind, Sir."

Harry ducked his head to murmur in Hermione's ear. "When did _he_ learn manners?"

She bit her lip to hold in a laugh as they watched Draco turn, placing a hand on William's shoulder to guide him toward the table, before which Lucius waited.

"Mr. William Granger, my father Lucius."

Hermione stiffened as she waited. It felt as though everyone in the room—even little Mirell, who was puttering in the background, tending to flowers potted near the sun room's glass-paned walls—froze as the two men stared at one another.

Over Lucius' shoulder, Hermione had a clear view of Narcissa _glaring_ in her husband's direction. Funny that he couldn't actually see her displeased expression from his position, but Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if he _sensed_ his wife's gaze burning holes in the back of his head.

Especially not when he gave himself the most minute shake and forced a small smile, offering his hand. "William."

The bride-to-be felt the tension drain from her as her father shook Lucius's hand. "Lucius."

That seemed all the greeting they were going to offer each other, which was fine, as it was far more than Hermione'd been expecting. Honestly, she'd pretty much been prepared for the two to simply grunt acknowledgements at one another, like those lowland gorillas in Muggle nature documentaries.

Narcissa, on the other hand, seemed to have planned for precisely this scenario, because she was the absolute picture of relaxed refinement as she instantly began directing everyone to their seats at the table.

Of course, finding herself seated between Harry and Draco wasn't remotely ideal for _Hermione's_ relaxation. Narcissa had insisted Dahlia sit beside her, and their husbands sat on either side of them. Both men were perfectly content to let their wives dominate the strained afternoon with conversation about all the preparations that needed to take place over the next few months.

Narcissa paused their discussion long enough to see to everyone's tea. All the while, Mirell looked on, her huge eyes hopeful, as though she wished she'd been asked to handle the matter. Hermione wasn't certain if the elf understood that her mistress was merely fulfilling the role of hostess to a tea party—which, as grim as the afternoon felt, _was_ exactly what this function was supposed to be.

As the women settled back into their conversation, Hermione's father spoke up, his voice directed at Lucius. "So, Hermione tells me this . . . _situation_ these three are in is unusual for witches and wizards, too?"

She closed her eyes, wishing for all the world she could sink down and hide beneath the table. But then she didn't want either of her—still, for the moment— fiancés getting any hopeful ideas about her reason for being down there.

Harry and Draco, for their parts, silently watched their elders over the rims of their cups as they sipped their tea. William's mild tone of disdain had not been lost on them, and they both waited on pins and needles for the Malfoy patriarch's reply.

Lucius offered the Muggle a mirthless, perhaps even pained grin as he shook his head. "Your daughter would be correct, William. Although, as I understand it, many of our ways must seem . . . _odd_ to you. Even so, 'this situation,' as you call it, is not at _all_ typical for us, either."

Nodding, William seemed appeased that they were _both_ bristly about the impending, decidedly unconventional, marriage. Though, he did look into his cup with a disappointed expression. "How I wish this had more than tea in it . . . ."

Hermione's brows shot up. "Dad!"

William looked up at his daughter and shrugged. No harm in a minor honest admittance, was there?

Lucius merely nodded. "After this, there _will_ be libations, I assure you. Narcissa forbid me from adding any liquor to the tea."

Hermione sank in her chair with her hand over her face. She was surprised to notice Harry and Draco both mirroring her defeated posture.

"It's worse than I thought," she said in a dull tumble of words.

"I know." Harry's green eyes were wide behind the wire-rims of his glasses as he nodded.

"They're _actually_ getting along," Draco said, his tone a mixture of horror and mild confusion.


	12. Books Over Flowers

**Chapter Twelve**

Books over Flowers

Hermione rolled her eyes as she ambled, a few paces behind her mother and Mrs. Malfoy through the gardens. Yes, it was all lovely, the blooms were gorgeous, the air was sweet with the fragrance of flowers . . . Hermione could even imagine herself walking along the cobblestone path that led to the enormous, black-marble fountain, escorted by her father.

She could imagine dancing in the gazebo nestled between the black baccara roses and the black magic hollyhocks.

She could even picture Harry and Draco, both looking rather amazing in their dress robes.

This was _all_ too much at the moment. She still had time; she might still find her way out of this. So _why_ was she picturing wedding scenes?

"And this is the black calla," Narcissa was saying, running her elegant fingers over the dark-purple lilies in delicate, loving touches. "If our bride-to-be does not object, I think it would be lovely to have these, or perhaps our queen of the night tulips, lining the aisle."

Dahlia turned to face her daughter, half-expecting to find the young witch gone for how quiet she'd been. "Hermione, don't you want to look at these?"

Hermione glanced from her mother to Draco's, and back. They meant well, she _knew_ they did, but once more all she could think was how this _was_ all too much, too fast!

She ran her hands down her face, undoubtedly making a cringe-worthy expression in the process. "Listen, I appreciate all this, I do. I appreciate that you're getting along; I appreciate that you and Dad are being so understanding about all this. I appreciate Mrs. Malfoy's generosity and patience about this mess. I appreciate that the existence of Fire Whiskey is keeping my father and Mr. Malfoy civil to one another. I appreciate that my fiancé _s_ —plural, bloody _plural_ —have yet to kill each other. But I just . . . I can't . . . I don't want to look at flowers. I don't want to sit through afternoon teas pretending I'm comfortable when I'm bloody well not! I just want everything to slow down for . . . for just a little bit _, please_!"

"Oh, Hermione, sweet heart," Dahlia said, closing the distance to her daughter.

Narcissa extracted her wand from inside her sleeve and pointed across the garden path toward the patio. " _Accio_ chair."

A chair made of artfully twisted black iron skittered across the stones, and Hermione collapsed into it, barely noticing her mother's wide-eyed fascination with the simple spell. She had a witch for a daughter, but Hermione wasn't one for using magic around her parents unnecessarily. It was easy to forget that magic was so second nature to the Malfoys that it probably hadn't crossed Narcissa's mind for a moment that she was in the presence of someone for whom this was unusual.

Hermione leaned forward, propping her elbows on her knees to bury her face in her hands. "I'm sorry." She shook her head and forced a sniffle as she curled her fingers against her chin. "I didn't mean to explode like that. I just . . . I think I'm scared. I can't believe I didn't realize that before, but there it is. It feels like we have all the time in the world, and no time at all, all at once, and it's _so_ confusing."

With a nod and a sigh, Mrs. Malfoy called over two other chairs. She and Dahlia seated themselves as the Muggle woman took one of her daughter's hands in her own.

"I'm not going to pretend I know how things work in this . . . other world you're a part of, but I _can_ imagine how upsetting this idea of marrying someone—let alone _two_ someones—can be when it's not your choice."

Giving a sigh of her own, Hermione shook her head once more, her gaze on her mother's hand around hers. "Oh, Mum, that's not it, not really."

"I do not think either of us can actually understand what it is you feel about this situation," Narcissa said, a frown gracing her lips.

Hermione chewed her lip as she tried to find the words to explain her emotions. How did things get this complicated this quickly? How did she not even understand her own feelings until just now . . . . And oh, dear _God_ , she'd just yelled at Narcissa Malfoy!

"It's not even the wedding, it's all the things that come _before_ it. All the things that it's making me think about that I never would have before." Her shoulders slumped as she forced out a breath from between pursed lips. "I want something to make this not all happen, but what if that something never comes? The Ministry doesn't come to its senses, I can't get them to change their minds. I'm scared about Harry. He's my best friend, and I'm scared I'm falling in love with him.

"Draco? Dear God, I never even thought we'd be able to stand in the same room without us hurling insults at each other, now here we are, sometimes having trouble keeping our hands . . . ." Hermione's voice trailed off as she remembered Draco's mother was sitting _right_ there.

The younger witch cleared her throat and shook her head, powering on. "I'm scared about what this means for my friendship with Harry. I'm scared I might actually _want_ to feel something more for Draco," she said, her voice low. "What if I do fall, and it sours before we even get to the wedding? What if I fall, and _neither_ of them feels the same?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, causing a shivering breath to escape her.

Where _was_ all this coming from? _This_ was how she really felt? How could she not have realized! How could her life have changed _so_ much over the course of two and a half weeks?

Dahlia smiled warmly as she gave her daughter's hand a gentle squeeze. "Do you know what I remember? I remember hearing you talk about Harry when you were growing up. I remember watching the two of you around each other and thinking the two of you, _together_ , was inevitable." She lifted her free hand to cup Hermione's cheek. "And I remember that day your father and I went with you to Diagon Alley. When we were in that little bookshop. I remember seeing this sour-faced blond boy watching you. Everything else that was going on, and he was staring at you . . . like he couldn't see anything else."

Narcissa's brows shot up, but she remained silent. Had this really started so long ago and she'd not realized?

"You didn't notice, no one did. Yet, today, I saw that same expression on that very same boy when we walked into this house. But that was the year, with the book shop, that was when it began. If you weren't talking about Harry, you were complaining about Draco." Dahlia wouldn't say it outright, but she'd honestly been surprised when Hermione had started dating that Ron Weasley.

Hermione met her mother's gaze, ignoring for a moment the comment about Draco in the book shop. Second year? He was looking at her like that in second year?

Rubbish. No way. Not. Remotely. Possible. "I think I need . . . . I need to go inside and have a shot of Fire Whiskey."

The two older women chuckled, but nodded in understanding.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I really _do_ appreciate everything you're doing for all of us, but . . . ." Hermione shrugged and glanced around the garden and its wide array of dark, beautiful flowers. "I've no idea about any of this. Flowers are not me, party planning is not me. Plan other things? Absolutely, receptions? _No_ ," she said with a laugh. "I'm just no good at any of that, and it's only going to frustrate me to try to keep up with you on it. So . . . what if I leave it to the two of you? And you can just tell me what you want to do, and if I hate it, I'll object. _Loudly_."

Dahlia stood, using her hand on Hermione's to pull the younger woman to her feet. "Go on, then. Make sure the men are behaving themselves."

Forcing a smile—this little chat had given her more to think about than she'd been willing to deal with since this entire mess started—she dropped a kiss on her mother's cheek. Turning a kind look on Narcissa, she then headed back toward the Manor door.

"Perhaps we can arrange for that first boutique trip in two weeks time?"

Hermione's steps faltered and her shoulders bunched at Narcissa's words. Then she heard her mother snicker. No doubt, in two weeks she _would_ be standing in a Muggle-friendly, witch-run bridal boutique, regardless of what she said. Glancing back over her shoulder, she sure enough saw a knowing grin playing on Narcissa's lips. Schooling her features, Hermione shook her head and continued on her way.

She arrived inside to find her father and Harry totally distracted in some hushed conversation, while Lucius stared blankly out into the garden through the sun room's glass-paned walls. She didn't bother looking for Draco—after what her mother'd said, she was a little afraid of what thoughts might skitter through her head if she looked into those grey eyes.

The bottle of Fire Whiskey was unattended, and she stole the opportunity, quickly pouring herself a shot's worth in one of the cut-crystal tumblers. With a breath, she knocked it back, wincing before she set the glass back down.

With a shake of her head, she pressed her fingers to her temples as she watched Harry and her father chat. Oh, how simple this would all be if it _were_ only Harry.

* * *

"Show her our library."

Draco jumped a little at his father's voice suddenly in his ear. He turned his head, meeting Lucius' gaze over his shoulder. "What?"

"Miss Granger is a lover of books, yes?" Lucius shrugged. "Show her the library."

"Why?"

There was an impatient huffing noise from the elder Malfoy. "Mr. Potter is already trying to . . . one-up you, as the saying goes. You must do something to level the playing field."

Frowning, Draco glanced at Granger. It did, indeed, unsettle him a bit to find her watching Potter, but he wasn't _about_ to state any such thing. "I thought you were against this ridiculous marriage. Why the change in attitude?"

"Oh, I am still markedly displeased with the situation, I assure you," Lucius said, taking a sip from the glass in his hand. "But, what I will not have is my son losing to Harry Potter."

Draco _just_ barely held in a groan. "Losing? Father, she's not a prize to be won."

Lifting a finger, Lucius scowled. "Yes, she is. All women are prizes, Draco. What they are _not_ is rewards, there is the distinction. They are not offered to us, regardless of their own wants because we are the better man, or we save the day, or accomplish a task. No." He shook his head. "A woman _is_ a prize. And it is up to _u_ s to be worthy of earning them."

Draco's brows shot up his forehead. "That's how you see Mother?"

Turning his head, Lucius looked through the panes, once more. His gaze landed unerringly on his wife as she strolled along the garden path. "Sometimes, we manage to find a prize of which we are _un_ worthy . . . and they put up with _us_ regardless that we do not deserve them."

Swallowing hard, Draco glanced from his father, to his mother through the glass wall, and back. Lucius Malfoy had just openly admitted that someone was too good for _him_.

Miracles _did_ happen, after all!

Lucius turned back to meet his son's gaze. Feeling his words had sunken in, he clamped his hand on Draco's shoulder. "Show her the library. Remind her you love knowledge _almost_ as much as she does."

* * *

Hermione gave a start at the gentle brush of fingertips against her arm. She pivoted on her heel to find Draco standing there.

Forcing a smile, she shook her head. "Draco, you startled me," she said in an oddly breathless whisper, her voice trembling just a little.

"Granger, I want you to come with me a moment."

He extended his hand to her, but Hermione could only stare at his fingers, uncertain what to make of the gesture. After all, this was Draco Malfoy acting . . . almost gentlemanly. "Why?"

"Because there's something I want to show you." When she still appeared reluctant, he tacked on, " _Please_?"

There was no mistaking Hermione's surprise at hearing Draco Malfoy utter the word _please_.

As much for being caught off-guard as it was out of curiosity, she nodded. "Okay," she said, again with that breathless, trembling whisper, as she placed her hand in his.


	13. I Pointed Out the Stars to You

**Chapter Thirteen**

I Pointed Out the Stars to You

Hermione felt her breath catch in her throat as she stepped through the double doors Draco had pushed open and found herself in the most glorious room she could imagine. The floor was wide open, with scatterings of chaises and tables set with reading lanterns, writing desks tucked into each corner . . . and the _books_!

The shelves lined the span of each wall, floor to ceiling, and a curved twin staircase at the back of the room led up to an upper balcony level that rounded the entirety of the library.

"Oh, _God_ ," she said in a breathless whisper, spinning slowly to take in all of it.

Draco moved into the room behind her, unable to believe that he was watching her so intently, yet unable to stop himself. She just looked so . . . awestruck, really, was the only way to put it.

Like he'd just handed her the world on a silver platter.

She had allowed him to lead her through the enormous house by hand, but even that seemingly romantic gesture didn't prepare her for the way her heart hammered in her chest when she faced him, catching his gaze.

Hermione never thought she'd see Draco Malfoy looking at her like _this_ —his grey eyes just a bit wide, and a hint of pink in his cheeks.

Swallowing hard, she tore her gaze from his, glancing over her shoulder. "Why are you showing me this?"

He shrugged as he took a step closer. He stopped there, only that little bit nearer, and stuffed his fists in the pockets of his trousers. "We both keep reminding each other there might not be a way out, so . . . ." Draco cleared his throat as he nodded, understanding the purpose of showing this room to her, now—beyond a shared love of knowledge. "This library is mine now, but . . . if we can't change things, it'll become _yours_ , too."

She became aware of the air rushing into her chest and back out as she breathed. Aware of the warmth in her cheeks as she looked back at him. He was really starting to think in the realm of _if it does come to pass_?

"Not fair, showing me this place when you want me to find us a way out of this mess," she said, forcing a small laugh.

He seemed at a loss for how to respond.

"You do still want out, right?"

Draco gave a start at the question. "Do you?"

Hermione's brows shot up. "I asked you, first."

"Yes?" When he realized the word fell from his lips as a question, he briefly dropped his gaze to the floor as he shook his head and tried again. Taking another step, he said, "Yes. I do, but . . . knowing getting out of this might _not_ happen, knowing that we might have to face a future _together_ . . . ." He shrugged again, painfully aware that his father had only imparted a portion of his intended message—that he'd meant for Draco to figure the rest out for himself. "Maybe it isn't such a terrible idea that we start considering what that might be like."

She laughed in spite of herself, her gaze searching his face. "Where is Draco Malfoy, and what have you done with him?"

"It makes sense," he said, shaking his head as he took another step, stopping again, but close enough now that he _could_ reach out and touch her. "And I'd think of all the things we disagree about, the one thing we can agree on is logic."

Oh, dear . . . . He was tossing books and logic at her, all while still looking at her like that. So _this_ was what had been hiding behind that angry boy all these years?

Again, Hermione felt her breath. She felt strangely aware of everything around her as she glanced over her shoulder, taking in the entirely of the gorgeous library, once more.

Draco's brow furrowed as he watched her. He was almost certain she was wondering how many books were on the shelves that she'd never even knew existed before. Almost certain she was wondering if the answer they sought might be here, somewhere, but then . . . .

"I pointed out the stars to you, but all you saw was the tip of my finger."

Something in her whispered words was hauntingly beautiful to him, and he found that he had to remind himself to breathe. He could actually picture what she said . . . . He could see them, lying on the grass in the gardens, the night sky overhead.

He could imagine pointing out the constellation with which he shared a name, but her attention drifting, her gaze on him, rather than on the stars above.

"What's that?" he asked, his voice barely audible.

Hermione turned her attention back to him. "It's, uh . . . ." She laughed a little at herself as she spoke. She hadn't even realized she'd said that aloud. "It's a saying I came across in my reading, once. It means . . . ." God, could she really explain this with those grey eyes holding hers?

"It means?" he echoed, his lids sweeping downward in a slow blink.

She lifted one shoulder in a half shrug as she forced her voice to work. "It means you showed me wondrous things, yet none were as wondrous as you."

There was a sheen over her chestnut eyes now, and he didn't want to think about why she looked like she might cry. A smirk curved his lips as he thought of something to break the sudden seriousness of the moment.

"Wondrous? Maybe I should show you libraries more often."

Hermione smiled half-heartedly. "I'm not . . . I'm not even sure why I said it. I'm just . . . ." She drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly, shaking her head.

Draco reached out, then, his eyes searching hers as he cupped her cheek. Against his better judgement, he pulled her close, guiding her to rest her head in the hollow of his shoulder.

"This is new," she said, a small laugh escaping her.

He chuckled as he folded his arms around her. "Oh, just shut up and go with it, will you?"

After a moment—too sharply aware of the feel of his body pressing to hers—she lifted her head. "Malfoy . . . ."

He tipped his face to look at her. "Granger?"

Hermione felt Draco's breath on her lips. Warm, tingling . . . _sweet_ . . . . But after his revelation in the wake of their last kiss, she was damned if she was going to make the first move.

Yet, he was already moving, taking that concern away from her as he lowered his head. His mouth pressed to hers, chaste and gentle.

Which lasted for all of about five seconds before he parted her lips with his tongue, thrilling at the way she nipped and nibbled at him. He slipped his arms lower, around her hips, pulling her tight against him.

She broke the kiss just as quickly, catching her breath, though she didn't step back, as she said, "We probably shouldn't do this, now."

"You say that, but you don't really want to stop there, do you?"

Holding his gaze, with their faces so very, very close, she found it hard to speak, but she knew he was right. "I don't, but . . . at this rate, we're going to end up going too far one day soon, and that deterrent . . . ."

"Maybe we can sidestep it, a little."

Tempted, she couldn't help a curious grin that curved her lips. "What do you mean?"

Biting into his bottom lip as he held her gaze, he lowered his head slowly to whisper in her ear. "Turn around, if you want me to show you."

* * *

Harry frowned, looking around as William excused himself from their conversation to go search for a bathroom. He noticed that the women wandering about the garden on the other side of the glass wall were missing one displeased-looking tag-along. He thought maybe he'd heard Hermione come inside a little while ago, but . . . .

He turned, looking about the room. Lucius sat, staring out as he sipped his drink. Draco was nowhere to be found.

And neither was Hermione.

His eyes rolling, he let out a little groan as his frame slumped. He should've known not to take his eyes off the Malfoy men for even a second.

Setting down his glass, he made his way over to Lucius.

At the proximity, Lucius turned his head, blinking tiredly at the younger wizard. "Potter."

Harry bit the inside of his lip to hold in anything sassing. After all, if Hermione couldn't change this, he was stuck with this man in his life, whether he liked it, or not. "Where are they, Mr. Malfoy?"

Taking a sip of his drink, Lucius gave a little wince and peered into his glass as he swirled what liquid remained. "I am sorry. Where are _who_?"

Pursing his lips tight, Harry gave himself a moment to calm down before he answered. "You know perfectly well, Mr. Malfoy. Hermione and your son."

"Oh, yes." Lucius' brows rose a bit as he met Harry's gaze, once more. "I suggested to him that he show her our library. She was ill at ease, it seemed the thing to alleviate that, given her love of books. I would imagine that is probably where they are."

Harry's mouth dropped open to say something as he shook a finger at Lucius. But he only snapped it shut again, instead storming from the room.

Lucius frowned thoughtfully as he looked back to the dwindling contents of his glass. "He _is_ smarter than I have given him credit for."

* * *

Hermione turned in his arms, surprised how warm his skin against her back was through their clothes. She leaned a bit more tightly against him, shivering a little at the feeling of his breath on her neck.

Draco trailed his lips and the tip of his tongue along the side of her throat. He lifted one hand, skimming the edge of his palm along her body, up to her breast. He waited for her to object. When she didn't, he cupped the rounded weight in his hand, kneading it gently.

"Oh," she said in a breathy whisper, unable to help a small giggle. "This is _certainly_ something we shouldn't be doing right now."

"You're more than welcome to tell me to stop." He closed his lips around her earlobe.

She shivered at his teeth scraping her skin, her arms moving to rest over his—even as his other arm was at her thigh, inching up the hem of her dress. "I know," she said; somehow the idea that he was leaving this up to her made her want it to continue _more_.

So much for logic.

Her head rolled back against his shoulder as she turned her face toward his. He took the hint, covering her mouth with his own as he pushed the fabric out of the way, tracing the top of her bared leg, just below the elastic side of her knickers.

She let out a little, murmured sound of satisfaction as his hand slipped between her thighs. Hermione found herself moving against his ministrations, only the very tips of his fingers rubbing against her through the satiny undergarment.

Breaking the kiss, she said as she caught her breath, "You _should_ stop. This won't be fair to you, at all."

Dropping the hand at her breast, he guided her hand with his own, drawing it between their bodies. "It would be if you don't mind returning the favor."

"I don't mind the idea of it," she said, shaking her head as she teasingly brushed her fingers over him through his trousers. "I just don't think having company while we do is the best plan."

He uttered an unattractive groan as he let his head fall back. "Dammit, I hate when you're right," he said with a chuckle as he let her dress fall back into place—but not before giving one last, rough rub, grinning at the way it made her moan.

Just as they broke apart, they heard from the doorway, "No, no. Don't stop on my account!"

They both turned to see Harry standing there, his gaze flickering from Hermione to Draco.

Her shoulders slumped, but she wasn't going to feel bad about sharing her time with her other fiancé—just like Draco couldn't make her feel bad for the time she shared with Harry. "Harry, we _talked_ about this."

"Hermione, I'm not going to get into this with you in front of _him_."

"Excuse me?" her voice was sharp as she asked.

Draco stepped back from her, his hands in the air. She sounded rather angry, and for once it wasn't at _him_.

"Harry, you and I aren't getting into anything, because we already discussed the issue of Draco and me, _and_ you and me," she reminded for the second time. "You _said_ you understood."

"And I _do_. That doesn't mean I want to walk in and _almost_ see it!"

"You _are_ welcome to leave any time you like, Potter," Draco said through lightly clenched teeth.

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"Actually, I—"

"All right, enough! Both of you!" Hermione was livid as she looked back and forth between the two.

"No, Hermione, no." Harry stomped across the polished wood floor, right up to Malfoy. "This bastard was taking advantage of the situation, and he knows it."

"What situation? Oh, you mean how you were too distracted ingratiating yourself to her father to pay attention to where she was?"

Harry snapped, his fingers latching around the collar of Draco's shirt as he got in the other wizard's face.

Hermione watched, uncertain what to do to separate them _peacefully_. There was a deathly stillness in the room as Harry and Draco simply glared at one another, their faces so close, they could feel the brush of one another's breath on their skin.

Something . . . _shifted_. For only the briefest moment, Hermione thought if she'd blinked, she might have missed it.

Harry forced a gulp at the same moment as Draco's gaze flicked down—so fast it was almost unnoticeable—to Harry's mouth.

Their eyes locked again, but only for a few, strained heartbeats, before pushing away from each other.

All three seemed to take a deep breath at the same time.

Hermione lifted a hand, flicking her finger from one of them, to the other, and back. "What just happened?"

"Nothing," Harry said, swallowing again.

At that same moment, Draco started for the doors as he said, "I think I need a drink."

"That makes two of us," the words tumbled from Harry's lips in a dull murmur.

"Three, actually," Hermione said in a whisper.

She fell into step behind Draco. Harry moved to follow her, out into the corridor and down the stairs, to where the Fire Whiskey waited.


	14. Luna's Wisdom

**Fourteen**

Luna's Wisdom

Luna's jaw hung open, her dreamy blue eyes wide. Cho, seated beside her girlfriend in the grass outside the Lovegood house, had clamped her hands over her mouth as she blinked rapidly at Hermione.

The Gryffindor witch frowned, her gaze on her own fingers as she plucked at the blades beneath them—dry and yellowed from losing their color in the late-autumn weather. The temperature had finally started to turn, reflecting the time of year, and the pair across from her shared a thick, knitted blanket, wrapped around their shoulders, while Hermione was buttoned up in a coat. If not for how beautiful the field surrounding Luna's home was—despite not having an enchantment in place to keep the plants in bloom year-round like Malfoy Manor—they'd be indoors.

That was all right; Hermione wasn't certain she wanted Xenophilius Lovegood—or anyone, really—overhearing what had happened in the library of Malfoy Manor three days prior. Harry would never forgive her.

And Draco . . . . No, not a pretty thought. He might forget trying to romance her in favor of hexing her. That tooth-enlargement mess in forth year was still surprisingly fresh in her mind.

After the incident in the library, the three of them had simply sat in the sun room, glasses of Fire Whiskey clutched in their hands as they each looked off in a different direction. Hermione, as seemed par for the course with anything involving those two, was seated between the pair of wizards. Though, her placement was quite against her will, as when they sat down she'd tried to walk away.

Each had slipped a hand 'round one of her wrists and pulled her back, causing her to fall onto the cushion between them.

Harry had refused to talk about it—or to even discuss _anything_ involving Malfoy. Draco seemed to be avoiding both of them. Each time Hermione saw him at the Ministry, a quick slip of a grin would grace his lips, then there was a flicker in his expression. Suddenly, he would spin on his heel and walk off in the opposite direction.

Hermione couldn't say she actually minded, as she still had no idea what to say about the incident, either.

Cho's fingers slipped from her mouth. "So . . . Harry and Draco had a _moment_ , is what you're saying?"

With a strangled whimpering sound, Hermione dropped her face into her hands and nodded.

"Well . . . ." The jet-eyed young woman cleared her throat. "I do suppose there are _many_ much worse looking wizards to see almost kiss."

Hermione barked out a mirthless laugh. "This isn't funny, Cho." Though, she would probably see the humor in it, were she not right in the middle of this very peculiar situation. "This just makes everything more complicated. _What_ am I going to do?"

Luna shrugged beneath the blanket and snuggled closer to Cho. "I don't think there's anything _to_ do. I mean, isn't this actually a good thing? A thing that makes the situation _less_ complicated?"

Hermione and Cho exchanged a look before they each returned their attention to Luna. "Okay, I must just be really stressed over this entire mess," Hermione said, shaking her head. "You are _going_ to have to explain that to me."

Luna gave her usual breezy smile. "Okay, well, they've both made it clear that they're attracted to you, yeah?"

" _More_ than clear," the brunette said in a mutter, a blush flaring in her cheeks.

"Hasn't that sort of been the biggest problem? That they both want you, and neither wants to share?"

Hermione felt a little trickle of warmth wind through her as Luna's meaning became clear in her mind. She sat up a little straighter, forcing a gulp down her throat. "And they wouldn't be so opposed to the idea, if they wanted each other the same way they want me?"

Her smile brightening, Luna shrugged again. "Makes sense to me."

Cho giggled, cupping her hands over her mouth a moment. "Merlin's beard, are you one lucky witch!"

"But it isn't that simple. It's—"

"Isn't it?" Luna's lips twitched side-to-side as she thought. "Look, it's plain to anyone paying attention that you're not as _opposed_ to the marriage as you originally were, now are you?"

Hermione bit her lip, casting her gaze toward the sky. That much certainly was true—hadn't that been the reason for her little meltdown in the Malfoys' garden? Because she was rather certain she was falling for _both_ of them?

It seemed utterly ludicrous, but . . . _wouldn't_ things be simpler if she didn't feel so certain they were going to make her choose, regardless of what the terms of their impending marriage actually called for?

And she couldn't deny that she'd felt the same sort of giddy flutter through her stomach when she'd seen Draco and Harry in each other's faces like that as she did when she was alone with either of them. Wasn't she curious what might've happened in that library, had they not pulled away from each other?

The idea _certainly_ had merit. Honestly, there were butterflies zipping through her belly just recalling that moment.

Oh, but this was _all_ moot!

"No, no, wait." Hermione waved her hands about as she shook her head. "Aren't we losing sight of the fact that I'm trying to _stop_ the forced marriages?"

Luna and Cho shared a glance. "No," the blonde said. "Of course not. But . . . wouldn't you be so much happier if you were going through with the wedding because you wanted to—and _they_ wanted to—rather than because you're being forced?"

"You can _still_ find a way to stop the issue that brought the marriage law about, but . . . ." Cho nodded, her expression brightening to match Luna's. "But if you can be happy in the situation you've found yourself in, who says _that_ has to change?"

Hermione raked her fingers through her wild hair. This was madness, wasn't it? _Still_ marrying not one of her wizards, but _both_ of them, willingly? Harry and Draco would never be okay with that.

Unless she _could_ make them see that it could work.

"They won't even look at one another, they'll barely talk to _me_ right now. How do I get them to take a break from being stubborn long enough to even consider the possibility?"

The Ravenclaw couple across from her exchanged another glance. Returning their gazes to Hermione, they both nodded as they replied in unison, "Alcohol."

* * *

Hermione was nervous as she set out the books she hadn't gone through, yet. The final one was the one she found the most objectionable, as it involved mass-populace-affecting fertility charms, but if the source of the marriage laws was infertility—as Squib births _were_ considered a form of infertility in the eyes of the magical community—that did make the most sense.

Yet, it was not the content of the books that had her pacing anxiously. It was waiting to see if her idiot wizards would show. Of course, she hadn't told either of them the other would be there.

It was the notion floating in the back of her mind that they might well destroy her flat hurling malign spells at one another.

When the doorbell chimed, she nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Bloody hell, Hermione, calm down," she said to herself in a whisper as she stepped into the corridor and started downstairs.

At the door, she paused, drawing a deep breath and the letting it out slowly. Nodding to herself, she opened the door to find two markedly displeased sets of eyes glaring down at her.

"Oh," she said, the color draining from her cheeks as she stared back, her gaze flicking from one to the other, and back. "You're both—"

"What's _he_ doing here?" they demanded at the same moment, each pointing to the other wizard.

Hermione backpedaled a step as the pair exchanged a quick, venomous glance.

Clearing her throat, she held her hands up in a sign of surrender. "Well, to be totally honest, I didn't expect you both to show at the same time, I thought one of you would already be upstairs when the other arrived, so there would be less fuss."

"Not really helping yourself here, Granger."

Harry nodded, but caught himself. "I'm actually forced to agree with Malfoy on this one."

"Okay, look," she said, slipping one hand 'round Harry's wrist and the other around Draco's and tugging them both into the small foyer. " _I_ have decided this nonsense with the two of you has _got_ to stop. I need help, and since you two are the only ones entertaining my fool notion about putting a stop to this wedding madness, we're going to _forget_ about whatever did, or didn't, almost happen, so you two fools can assist me in my research."

"Nothing happened," they snapped in unison, each giving the other a quick, angry look, complete with squaring their jaws.

"Didn't I just say that?" Sighing, she shook her head. How had they managed to make the situation more strained? They were maddening. "Let's just go upstairs. I have all the books laid out. If things get too uncomfortable, you can leave."

"I'm already plenty uncomfortable, so I'll just be—"

"Don't you dare, Draco Malfoy," the witch said in a lethal whisper.

Turning on her heel, she reached back, once more grabbing hold of both of their wrists. As she all but dragged them up the stairs to her flat, Harry avoided so much as looking at Draco. He was utterly ignoring that on the narrow staircase, their bodies kept brushing against each other.

He was so _going_ to make Hermione pay for this.

Draco was fighting every fiber of his being to not simply turn and push Potter down the bloody stairs. This was _so_ . . . bothersome! If not that he was certain Granger would never forgive him, he'd hex him on the spot.

And _why_ did the prat keep bumbling into him!

Back inside the flat, Hermione was hearing no arguments from either of them as she pushed them into seats on opposite ends of her kitchen table. "There, you don't have to be anywhere near one another, okay?"

After a moment, neither of them spoke. Each grabbed a book in silence and started reading.

Letting out a sigh, Hermione rubbed her forehead with the tips of her fingers.

"Okay. Would either of you like a drink?"

"Yes, please," Harry said.

"Thought you'd never ask," Draco replied; neither man looked up from his reading.

With a nod, Hermione turned toward her cupboards. "Alcohol it is," she murmured.

* * *

"Oh, my God!" Hermione sat up, blinking a few times as she reread the passage. The print kept trying to drip off the page in front of her. "Look, look, here."

Harry rubbed the heel of his palm against his eyes before he looked at her. Draco paused in running the tip of his tongue across his teeth—his gums felt fuzzy—to give her his attention.

She pouted, glancing from them to their books, and back. "Hey, you two weren't even reading, were you?"

"Of course, we were," Draco said, though he did spare a moment to peek into his glass—he seemed rather confused to find it empty, again.

"Yeah." Harry nodded, waving dismissively in Malfoy's direction. "Like the Slytherin says. So, what'd you find?"

Hermione found the slurring of Harry's S's too amusing to point out that he was _clearly_ drunk. "Well," she said, sparing a moment to reach over and tug the empty glass from Draco's hand and replace it with her own—still with a few sips left. "There's a spell here that can reverse infertility. It fell out of favor shortly before the Statute of Secrecy was declared."

Draco seemed satisfied with the trade, nodding as he lifted the glass to his lips.

"Why'd it fall out of . . . whatever it was you just said?"

She snickered. "You're cute when you're pissed, Draco."

The pale-haired wizard beamed as he polished off her drink.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He was pretty sure he wanted punch the other man . . . if he cared to get out of his seat, right now. Which he did not!

"Doesn't say; the Ministry of that era locked away a _lot_ of things, apparently. Anyway, if we do this, it should give a boost to the magic passed on through pregnancy, reducing the number of Squib births . . . . That would do away with the need for the marriage law!"

Hermione was _so_ excited, it was nearly enough to sober her up! Well, yeah, _nearly_. Though, she distantly thought it was no wonder it had taken her weeks to find this book—it was cracked and disused, tucked way in the back of a cobwebbed shelf in a seemingly forgotten nook of the Black family library.

She wondered if Harry would be pleased or irritated that he'd had the answer in his shelves at Grimmauld Place the entire time.

Grinning triumphantly—and a bit lopsided on account of the alcohol—Hermione set the book in the center of the table, so they could all see the incantation.

"Ready?" she asked, pleased when they both nodded. Yes, sure, she still wanted to be with both of them, but they could deal with that later.

Drawing their wands, they each exhaled slowly, focusing, despite their current intoxication.

As they recited the chant from the book, multi-colored sparks leapt from their wands. She blinked a few times, but before she could check if that was supposed to happen, Draco and Harry were chanting again.

Again sparks flew, brighter than before.

Forcing a gulp, she decided her trepidation was probably due to the conversation with Luna and Cho, and her own confused feelings. She joined them for the third round of chanting.

On the fourth, the sparks floating in the air came together, darkening to a swirl of unappetizing hues before erupting in a flash of light that knocked them all backward.

"What the hell?" Harry asked as he scrambled to his feet. "You two okay?"

"Yeah," Draco said, shaking his head, though he was not as quick to stand.

"Granger?"

"I'm okay," she replied, swallowing hard. "But, what the bloody hell is that?"

Draco and Harry both followed her gaze. Hovering over the table, where the sparks had converged, was a dark cloud. Thick and inky-black, it was intersected with bright lines, angry and violent.

After a moment, the shape let out an angry rumble and then dissipated before their eyes.

"I don't understand," she said, shaking her head. "And you know I don't like it when I can't understand things."

Finally, Draco stood, offering Hermione a hand up. "I heard about this once. It means the circumstance we're trying to correct _can't_ be corrected."

Frowning, Hermione returned her attention to the book. "But it says right here the spell circumvents _all_ known natural causes for infertility."

"I get it," Harry said after a moment of silence, nodding. She'd get it in a moment, he knew, but he also knew her current inability to think clearly was probably driving her mad. "It's not a _natural_ cause."

"A curse, then?" Hermione felt her heart tumble into her stomach as her gaze traced the spot where the dark cloud had been. "Someone cursed the pure-bloods?"

"I can't even . . . . Who would . . . ?" Draco shook his head, confusion clear in his expression as he tried to think of _anything_ to say.

Giving up, he stomped to counter where Granger had left what was probably the third bottle of Fire Whiskey she'd opened for them. He grabbed the nearly-full bottle by its neck and nodded toward the living room.

"I'm 'bout go drink 'til this makes sense. Who's with me?"

With a shrug and a nod, each, Hermione and Harry both followed him across the flat.


End file.
